Upon the Sundering Sea
by ilysia
Summary: When Lucy's ship is taken by pirates, it is her brothers' task to bring her safely home. But not all are what they appear to be, and beneath the simple guise of kidnapping a deeper conspiracy is brewing, one that endangers all of Narnia.
1. Prologue: Lost at Sea

**Disclaimer:** Narnia and all inhabitants are the property of the CS Lewis estate. No disrespect is intended by their use.  
**Author's Note:** Well, here we have the long-promised and occasionally-hinted at story that's been stewing for quite some time. I'm actually rather excited about this, though we'll probably proceed, at least at the beginning, at a slower pace than I usually do. The rating is for future chapters which, in accordance with the story, may be a bit unpleasant. But that's still in the future, so for now I encourage you to enjoy!

I also want to take this chance to extend thanks to Tonzura123 who, besides being a wonderful author, has graciously agreed to beta this and make it fit for consumption. Many thanks!

* * *

**Upon the Sundering Sea**

**Prologue: Lost at Sea**

Lucy backed away until she felt the heavily carved railing pushing into her back, supporting her and caging her at the same time. She looked over her shoulder at the brilliant blue water, considering. It wasn't such a long way to fall and the Mer-people had taught her well…

The water lapped gently against the ship, inviting her in. Such an easy jump. But of course it wouldn't work; they'd either send someone in after her or simply wait until the swimming exhausted her before fishing her out.

With a sigh of resignation, she turned her back to the sea once more and dropped her dagger. The sound of the tempered steel striking the deck made her cringe- it was galling to give in, but she knew she had no other options. Before her, the man- pirate, she thought with distaste- chuckled.

"That's a good lass. Now, kick it here."

At her side, Beryn, teeth bared and eyes wild, tensed himself to leap at their captors. As her personal guard, she knew he felt honor-bound to do anything and everything to protect her. But attacking those who held her ship would do nothing but incense the pirates and get Beryn killed. She placed one hand on his muscular shoulder, restraining him despite the fact that he was easily three times her size. "Beryn, please."

"My Queen…"

The pirate laughed, seemingly delighted at the sight of a little girl telling a great predator what to do. "That's right, Puss. You listen to the lass. And you, lassie, do as I say!"

Lucy shot him a look of pure hatred before kicking her own dagger to him, taking care as she did so not to cut her bare foot on its razor edge. The blade slid across the polished deck, coming to a halt only a short ways from the man's weathered boots. He bent to retrieve it and turned it wonderingly in his hands.

"That's mighty fine craftsmanship for a lass to be carrying, even a lass that's a queen. It'll fetch a good price, at any rate." So saying, he stuck the blade into his belt and beckoned to her. "Now, you can either come along nicely and tell Puss to do the same, or I can drag you to the _Thanatos_ and leave what's left of your kitten here." He gave them both a crooked smile and Lucy bet herself that he would like nothing better than to have an excuse to kill Beryn where he stood and drag her, protesting, to his ship.

A snarl rose in Beryn's throat.

"Wait," she whispered, crouching near his head to whisper into his ear. "Wait, Beryn. Keep yourself alive, and the others, and I promise that when the time comes, you can have him. "

The Cougar stiffened and turned his head ever so slightly to stare at her. Lucy knew she'd startled him; in the four years since she'd become queen, the four years during which he'd guarded her faithfully, she'd never spoken in such hatred. She'd startled herself, but she couldn't regret it. These pirates had taken her ship without warning or cause, killing those they couldn't subdue. She was angry, and her anger was stabilizing her. "Promise me," she whispered harshly into his ear. "Promise me you'll keep the others from doing anything foolish."

She felt rather foolish herself, asking Beryn, who was known to have a wicked temper when it came to those threatening his queen, to keep his head. But he was the only one she had. He must have realized this, for he inclined his head in a Cat's bow.

"My Queen."

With a curt nod, she rose and turned to her captor, who leered at her.

"Fine choice, lassie. Ho! Demis!" Another man, younger and thinner than the one guarding Lucy, came scurrying down from the forecastle. He halted in front of Lassie, as Lucy had mentally christened her captor, and made a mocking salute. "Demis," Lassie said, his ego swelling visibly with each word, "you're to take this Puss," he jerked his head towards Beryn, "to the stern with the others. If he so much as purrs, gut him."

"And what'll you be doin' while I'm riskin' life and limb with this lion?"

Beryn snarled softly at the word 'lion', but quieted at a look from Lucy.

"I'll be escorting the queen here to Captain's quarters. Unless, of course, you'd like to question that?" Lassie said it softly, but from the way Demis hunched at his tone Lucy could guess that the thought of questioning the orders of their Captain was too much for both men. It was something to keep in mind.

"Right then. With me, Highness."

Lucy let him lead her away, but shot a look that was half warning, half pleading back at Beryn. If he could only keep everyone from doing something foolish until word got to Cair Paravel… It was really all she hoped for.

They traversed the deck of the _Euthymia_ and Lucy could not keep thoughts from returning to the fact that all of this was so wrong, so very wrong. The sky and the sea were still as perfectly blue as they had been when the day began, the sun shone brightly, and the wind was still a gentle breeze that teased Lucy and tossed her hair about her face, yet nothing was the same. The friendly jokes and cheerful singing of the _Euthymia_'s crew had ceased only to be replaced by the sound of rough banter and the occasional cry of pain or rage. It had not been a bloodless takeover, she was sure, though she did not know how many crew and passengers were dead. Really, it didn't bear thinking about; pirates in the Eastern Sea had never been known for their courtesy and the _Euthymia'_s crew was anything but peaceful. Most of them had fought in the wars against Jadis and she feared that many would die before being the captives of anyone.

Narnian prisoners were grouped from stern to bow and she scanned every face, searching for those who were missing. The Captain, the cook, the Faun who'd told such funny jokes… Every face that was missing made her stomach clench a little tighter and her eyes a little colder. It didn't help that every group she passed by hailed her, calling out her name like an oath. The unspoken question hung in the air and only increased with every voice that did not ask it. As much as she agreed that there should be an uprising- and as quickly as possible- years of diplomatic training and a lifetime spent with Peter and Edmund told her that no uprising, no matter how quick or well organized, could succeed at this point. For now, the pirates were on their guard, ready and waiting for someone to try something stupid. She doubted they would need much of an excuse to slaughter the crew wholesale.

Knowing all of this, she shook her head to every questioning look and prayed that Aslan would give her the strength to get them all through this. _They are my people_, she repeated to herself over and over again as Lassie led her across the deck, _and I am their queen. They are my people…_

Lassie's grin had nearly split his face by the time he got her to the gangplank that served as a perilous passage from the _Euthymia_ to the _Thanatos_. She supposed he would get some sort of reward for finding her, as she was a queen, but she really couldn't see why he should be so pleased. It wasn't as though she'd been hard to find. The _Euthymia_, after all, wasn't that large, and there had been no question of evading capture.

"Here, little Highness; this is your royal road. It's not as fancy as your palace, but it'll-"

"Parn? Are you irritating her Majesty?"

Lucy had never seen the blood drain from a man's face so quickly; it was quite a surprising sight. She looked with curiosity from her guard to the source of the voice, wondering what, or rather who, could have caused such a reaction.

There on the gangplank, wearing what she might have called an amused expression were it not for the flat quality of the eyes, was a man whom she took to be captain of the _Thanatos_. The darkness of his skin and his black hair identified him as one of Calormene descent, though that meant very little; many pirates were Calormene. He wasn't a large man, nor a particularly fierce-looking person, but the first impression Lucy had of him was power. It hung around him like perfume, cloaking every movement and swathing every word with a layer of raw, calculated command. Lassie, or Parn, as she supposed she should call him now, cringed under the man's cold stare.

"N-no, sir. Simply taking her to Captain's quarters, as ordered. Sir."

"Are you indeed?"

"Yes sir, sir." The rough hand clutching her arm trembled almost imperceptibly.

"Very well then. Follow your Captain's orders."

He stepped smartly across onto the deck of the _Euthymia_ to let Lucy and Lassie, no, she reminded herself, Parn, pass. Parn heaved a quiet sigh of relief as he stepped onto the unwieldy gangplank, but froze when the soft voice said, "Parn?"

"Sir?"

"Is that her Majesty's knife in your belt?"

Parn, who was apparently more frightened of the captain than he was greedy, reluctantly pulled the dagger from his belt and handed it over, hilt first.

"Fine craftsmanship," the captain murmured, turning it over in his hands. They were beautiful- his hands. Lucy took special notice of them; they weren't sailor's hands, though she could see the calluses that marked him as a swordsman. In fact, if she had been asked to guess, she would have called them nobleman's hands. "It is a pity." Then, to Lucy's curiosity and Parn's apparent dismay, he turned and hurled the knife out into the sea.

"My orders," he said in answer to the pained look on Parn's face. "No trinkets."

Lucy watched her blade as it spun through the air, a curiously detached feeling setting in. She wondered, nonsensically, if it would sink to the very bottom of the sea or be swallowed up by a fish, as happened in the fairy tales. It would be a pity for a fish to swallow it, yet she couldn't stand the thought of Father Christmas's gift rusting away in the dark depths.

The captain raised his brows and Parn tugged her forward, more forcefully that he needed to. Lucy resisted for a moment, still watching the knife. A moment later, her eyes widened and she bit back a cry of surprise, freezing where she stood. Parn, finally losing his patience, snapped, "Move, Highness!" and jerked her the rest of the way across the menacingly shaking gangplank onto the deck of the _Thanatos_.

The ship was slightly larger than the _Euthymia_, though even to Lucy's untrained eye it was obvious that she was slower. It wasn't just luck, then, that her ship had been captured. She hadn't suspected it had been but now she was certain; there was no way a ship with lines like this could have ever caught the swift _Euthymia_ on a perfect day like today. The _Thanatos _wasn't as well kept either, or as new. There was no sense that any of her crew or captain took any pride in her, and Lucy's stomach tightened at the sight of what appeared to be very faint blood stains on the smooth boards of the deck. She slowed and Parn jerked her along, muttering to himself about captains and queens.

As Parn led her over the unfamiliar ship, Lucy thought of what she had seen and allowed a small smile of cold satisfaction steal across her face. It wasn't much, but it was hope, and it was better than nothing. Rather than look at the rest of the _Thanatos_ or over to the captive_ Euthymia_, she closed her eyes and let her mind fill with the image of a webbed hand rising out of the waves to snatch her knife just before it was lost to the sea.


	2. I: Introductions and Understandings

_I feel apologies are in order- I never intended for there to be such a large gap between postings! Once again I extend my warmest thanks to the awesome beta skills of Tonzura123, who has been forced to put up with my odd habit of sending things at all hours of the night. It's much appreciated! That being said, please enjoy the (admittedly much delayed) first chapter!

* * *

_

**I. Introductions and Understandings**

The cabin was much cleaner than the rest of the ship, or at least the rest that Lucy had seen. The wood of the heavy desk and chair (bolted to the floor, she guessed) gleamed, no stains were apparent on the rich carpet, and light poured in from the spotless bay window. She took all of this in as Parn pushed her through the door. When he released her she spun, angrily, to face him, but he had already gone, closing the heavy door behind him with a _click_.

She stood for a moment in the center of the spacious cabin just breathing, trying desperately to calm herself even as her heart and thoughts raced. She was alone; she couldn't afford to lose her temper; that would only endanger both her and what remained of the crew. They were counting on her to make this right.

And that, strangely enough, was what calmed her. Knowing that there were people- _her people_- counting on her, though it was a burden, also forced her beyond the pressure of her own fears. Breathing slightly easier, she opened her eyes and began to explore the cabin- the captain's cabin.

It was a simple berth, much like her own aboard the _Euthymia_. Besides the desk and chair, there was a bunk against one wall, neatly made. That was unusual, wasn't it, for a pirate vessel? Pirates had never struck her as the neatest of folk, though recalling the captain she could see why this cabin was kept in such good repair. He did not seem the type to allow incompetence. After a swift glance at the door, she made her way behind the desk to find, as she had expected, a large trunk.

The lid had been left open, much to her surprise, and the chaos within was at a strange contrast to the ordered simplicity without. Silks and books were jumbled together with rolls of parchment and weapons; her hands itched when she caught sight of a missive that began _To my lord-_but her fear of interruption kept her from prying. Lucy had no desire to fall afoul of the captain so soon after being taken; plenty of time for that later, she reasoned. Tearing herself away from the chest and its oh-so-intriguing contents, she looked up and out the window.

Spread before her in a beautiful tableau was the sea, where she had been free as the wind not an hour ago. It felt that her heart skipped a beat as she looked out upon the great expanse of seemingly endless sea and sky, off to the horizon where the two met and blended to form eternity. Narnia was her kingdom and she loved it greatly, but there was a part of her that had always belonged to the sea, and even now when she was alone and vulnerable she could not help the surge of emotion that rose within her. _Oh, the sea-_

"It is beautiful, is it not?"

That voice- quiet and so close- made her jump. She whirled only to find the captain a few feet from her, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She glared and his smile deepened. "The sea," he said, gesturing out his window. "When I find myself losing my temper, I think of the sea. Slow, patient, inexorable. Yet capable, at any second, of flying into the wildest rages. Like a woman," he drawled, smiling once more.

"Who are you?" Lucy whispered, at once ashamed of how frightened her voice sounded.

"Me? Why, your Majesty, I am your host, if only for a short time." There was a hint of playfulness in his soft voice, and she found herself wishing that he had screamed or threatened instead. "But I suppose, Majesty, that you were rather hoping to learn my name." He paused, his smile widening. She fumed. "Come now, your Majesty, the niceties must be observed. You shall present yourself, and then I shall do the same. There's no need to be uncivilized."

For one brief moment she considered defying him, telling him exactly what she thought of him and his detestable actions and- But the dangerous gleam in his eyes, though faint, was not gone, and she feared the consequences should she act out. He was not a man to cross. _Very well then,_ she thought viciously,_ I shall play this little game of yours, though I think you will not like it._

Inclining her head regally, as her etiquette teacher had taught her, she let four years of sovereignty take over. Her presence filled the room, despite her bare feet and windblown hair as she announced, "I am Lucy, sometimes called the Valiant. Queen of Narnia, Lady of Cair Paravel, Warden of the East, sister to the High King, and servant of Aslan."

The captain's thin brows arched in amusement and laughter danced maliciously in his gray eyes. "Well, Queen Lucy, sometimes called the Valiant, you have more titles than I, but perhaps that is well, for I find them cumbersome." He bowed, mockingly, and her stomach lurched at the scorn he managed to fit into the simple motion. "I am Esma'il, Captain of the _Thanatos_ and, for the time being, your host."

_Host_. That word conveyed so many implications- trust and friendship, an understanding or an agreement. It conveyed the sense of consent and desire, neither of which were present. "Captor, rather. I am no willing guest," Lucy spat as she backed away from him, unable to contain her disgust.

Esma'il shook his head sadly, bestowing a disappointed smile on the angry queen. "Dear Majesty, there is no need to be unpleasant. You must believe me when I say that this arrangement is quite temporary."

His words were mocking, but Lucy saw a chance that she was not willing to let slip by. "It could be extremely temporary. I give you this one chance to save yourself, Captain. Release me, and my crew, immediately. Allow us to return to our ship in peace, and remove yourself from these waters." She could see Esma'il's smile transforming into a grin, but she forged ahead. "It is the only chance you have to save yourself, for I tell you now: Narnia will not tolerate such an affront."

Esma'il laughed then, though his gray eyes were cold. "You imagine that I, having such a rich prize, would release it for fear of a land ruled by children? You have much to learn of the world, Queen Lucy." Skirting her, he made his way behind his desk and sat, seeming to take great pleasure in the impropriety of resting while royalty, albeit captured royalty, was forced to stand.

"And you have much to learn of Narnia," she answered coldly, "if you think you will achieve anything save death for your actions. There will be no ransom for me, I swear it."

"Does your brother the High King truly think so little of you, Majesty? In truth, though, it is not ransom I seek." Esma'il placed his hands on the desk's smooth surface and leaned forward, watching her with a hungry look in his eyes. "There are far richer prizes to be gained than gold or jewels, Majesty, and now I think you find yourself caught up in an even greater game than you can imagine, girl that you are."

She let the insult slide by, but the meaning behind Esma'il's words chilled her. There were few reasons besides ransom for a man to hold royalty, and none of them were good. Already he had proven that he was not bound by any sense of decency or fair play, though he seemed to revel in flirting with protocol. This Esma'il was playing a dangerous game, one that it seemed she was now a pawn in, whether she willed it or no.

"Just what is it, exactly, that you are planning?" She doubted he would tell her, but in his pride, of which she sensed there was no small amount, he might let something slip.

But luck, it seemed, was not with her, and rather than boast he laughed again. Lucy was finding that she hated his laugh more each time she heard it.

"Oh, Majesty, you do try so very hard, don't you? But I don't think I'll tell you just yet. There's no need for you to go worrying your pretty self about what will happen. Though-"

He broke off with an irritated sigh as someone knocked sharply on the cabin door. Drumming his long fingers on the desk in his impatience, he barked, "Enter!"

The door swung open to reveal a small man, younger than either of the crewmembers Lucy had met earlier. Bobbing his head nervously, he said, "All's ready, Captain. At your convenience."

He bobbed again and backed away at a signal from Esma'il. As the door shut, Lucy swiveled back to glare at the man. To her surprise and trepidation, she found that his irritation had vanished only to be replaced by an expression she would have called, had she seen it on another face, glee.

"Well now, Majesty, it seems my men are less incompetent that I had suspected. Perhaps there is hope for this venture, after all." He rose, bowed, and offered his arm. "Shall we, Queen Lucy?"

She took an unwilling half step backwards. _I wouldn't take your arm_, she found herself snarling inwardly,_ if it was the only thing in this world that could save me from drowning._ Aloud, she only said, "What is it that you have prepared, may I ask?"

"You may ask, dear Queen," he replied, lowering his arm slowly, "but I feel no obligation to respond. Fear not, you will find out quickly enough."

Without any further explanation he crossed the cabin and opened the door for her, gesturing for her to exit. He bowed as she passed by, once more making the sign of respect into a mockery of all it stood for. It was remarkable, really, how he could twist what was familiar into something new and chilling. Seeing his bow, Lucy felt like nothing so much as a prisoner on her way to an execution. He frightened her, she realized with a sudden bout of clarity. And it was not just the man she was frightened of- it was the thought of what he could do to her, her people, her country. She was a valuable hostage, for there was nothing Narnia would not to do get her back safely, nothing they would not risk.

But even as her fear threatened to engulf her, she had another thought: fear was not a luxury she could afford. She was a girl, yes, but she was also a queen. She might not have a crown or a throne but she was a queen nonetheless. And though it was a burden, it was also a support.

_Remember what you are_, she commanded herself, _and whom you serve._

With that thought came images of the Lion: great, golden, wrapped in majesty and splendor. She could see in her mind's eye his gentle face at the coronation, and the promises that had been made to all of Narnia. _Dear heart_…

Her fears, while not gone completely, faded into the background at the thought of the Lion's love and she managed to find her composure despite her uncertainty and the menacing presence of Esma'il at her back. Determined to serve Aslan proudly, Lucy lifted her head and tried to pretend as though the walk from the Captain's cabin to the main deck was no different than the walk across the Great Hall.

Behind her, she heard Esma'il chuckle as she began to walk more slowly; he probably thought it was from fear, but he did not understand her in the least. She was still frightened of him, terribly so, but this new, slower pace was rather a sort of respect for her position.

Still, when he leaned forward to whisper into her ear she could not stop herself from gasping. "A bit faster, Majesty, if you please. We wouldn't want to keep everyone waiting." He fastened his hand around her upper arm and began to propel her forward onto the main deck.

As they crossed from shadow into dazzling sunlight, Lucy was forced to momentarily close her eyes against the brightness that surrounded her. The day had grown hotter as she had spoken with Esma'il; the wind had died and the afternoon sun beat mercilessly on the exposed deck. The air was still thick with the wonderful smell of the open sea, but it was now tainted with another more subtle scent- trepidation.

Lucy opened her eyes slowly, trying to prepare herself for whatever it was she was going to see. She was as yet unsure what it was that Esma'il had arranged, but she was quite certain it was nothing that she was going to the enjoy. Yet, as she gazed around the deck, she could see nothing that unduly alarmed her.

That wasn't saying much, really, but she was a captive of pirates and she had to count her blessings no matter how small they were. For now, her blessings could be summed up in the fact that her crew was present and, for the most part, unharmed. They sat, or crouched, in some cases, on the deck, all displaying various stages of anger. From where she stood near the stern, she could see a few wounded, though none of the injuries looked too serious.

As Esma'il pushed her towards the center of the deck, the eyes of the _Euthymia_'s crew turned to her. The looks of anger crystallized into outrage at the sight of their queen, disheveled and made captive. A few tried to rise and approach her but they were quickly forced back down by the pirates, who seemed to delight in being far rougher than was necessary with their captives.

Meeting the eyes of every Narnian she passed, Lucy shook her head in response to their silent questions. _Now is not the time. Not yet, not yet. But soon, I promise._

As she passed among them she sought out those who were missing. The _Euthymia_'s captain was still nowhere to be found and Lucy guessed, though her heart gave a lurch at the thought, that the old Otter had fallen defending his ship. Esma'il had much to answer for in that regard- the captain was a good friend of Lucy's, and his daughter was a member of the Palace Guard. Others there were missing: Callio, the boatswain; Grath, one of the younger sailors. Lucy had not known them well, but Grath had told such funny stories and Callio, though the Lemur rarely sang, had been possessed of a voice to make the stars weep. Their deaths were not something that could simply be put aside but, for the moment, Lucy knew she must look to the living rather than mourn the dead. There would be a time for such things later.

"Queen Lucy!" someone cried out, and she blinked her tears away, searching wildly for the voice. Horen, a fellow passenger and one of Lucy's oldest friends, had risen. "My queen," he cried again, stumbling forward.

"Back down, goat," one of the pirates snarled, striking the elderly Faun and sending him sprawling.

"Captain, control your men," Lucy hissed, trying unsuccessfully to jerk away from Esma'il iron hold on her arm. "I will not see my crew so mishandled."

"Calm yourself, Majesty. It's the old fool's fault."

"You fancy yourself a gentleman and yet you allow such brutality aboard your ship! It is utterly reprehensible."

"Little queen," Esma'il said pleasantly, tightening his hold so that Lucy gasped aloud, "do not make difficulties. For now your crew is unharmed. For now. They will, I think, insure your obedience, for I do not value their lives as you do."

Lucy met his eyes and saw the pitiless satisfaction there. He enjoyed tormenting her, and she had no doubts that he would not hesitate to kill any Narnian if he thought it would force her to cooperate. With a shudder she turned her head from him, as much to escape his gaze as to show her defiance. Horen, she saw, had managed to straighten, though a bruise was already beginning to darken his temple. Biting her lip, she dropped her eyes to the deck.

"Now that we have that settled, I think the time has come for your surprise, Majesty. Narin, is all prepared?"

"It is, Lord Esma'il."

Lucy looked up, startled by the title. Narin, a small dark man, approached from the bow, bowing deferentially to Esma'il as he neared them. He was not dressed as the pirates were, in weatherworn castoffs, but rather as Esma'il was, in well-made garments that, while gently worn, had obviously been quite expensive. His addressing Esma'il as lord explained so much- the Captain's refined speech, his knowledge of protocol, his lordly hands- and yet it also intensified Lucy's worry. Esma'il as a pirate made sense; Esma'il as a lord of some sort hinted at conspiracy or worse.

"Very well, then. Let us begin."

Narin bowed again and, turning, signaled to a man who clung quite precariously to the rigging of the main mast. The man, in turn, did something with a flag, but Lucy was far too preoccupied with Narin to watch him. _Give me something, anything. I have to know what I am dealing with, please give me something that I can use-_

"Watch, little queen," Esma'il whispered, interrupting her silent pleading and turning her to face the sea off the starboard bow.

Though she hated complying with his wishes- _commands, _her mind supplied- her curiosity got the better of her and she turned, dreading whatever it was he was so excited about.

She had feared the worst but this- this was nothing. He was simply directing her gaze to the _Euthymia_, where she floated about two hundred yards off the starboard bow of the _Thanatos_. The caravel looked so small, so lovely as she rocked in the water, unburdened, now that her crew was abducted. Narnia's crimson and gold flew proudly from her main mast, snapping in the sudden breeze that sprang out of the east.

"Tell me what you see, Queen Lucy."

She turned to stare at him, wondering if this was perhaps another one of his games. "What I see?"

"Indeed. It is no trick."

"I see my ship," she said, hating every word that came out of her mouth because it was all part of his game. "I see the ship from which you have unrightfully taken me, and the ship that was, until a short time ago, my freedom."

"Ah, so poetic, Majesty. Is that all you see?'

"What am I supposed to be looking for?" she finally spat, tired of being strung along.

"Tsk. You must learn to be more observant." Finally releasing his vise-like hold on her, he leaned down so that his face was level with hers and pointed to something in front of the _Euthymia_. "Do you see that boat, Majesty?"

"Yes," she admitted grudgingly, "though I cannot begin to fathom its purpose."

"As for that, you shall soon see." Straightening, he nodded to Narin, who in turn signaled to the man in the rigging. As Lucy watched, confused, the man performed a complicated maneuver with a pair of flags. "Watch your ship, little queen."

Lucy watched, curiosity once more overcoming her desire to rebel, and saw a figure rise in the little boat. She frowned, unsure of what he was doing and half hoping that he would tumble into the sea. Luck was not with her however, and the figure simply hurled something onto the deck of the _Euthymia_. "What-"

"Hush. Just watch."

Biting back an angry retort, Lucy returned her gaze to her own ship. At first nothing seemed to be amiss, but after a moment's time she caught sight of a small flame flickering near the portside banister. _A torch_, she thought, _they've thrown a torch. Though what they think to accomplish I can't imagine. It would take more than a single torch to burn a ship the size-_

And then the tiny flame burst into life, roaring its way across the _Euthymia_'s deck with all the power and destruction of a wildfire. Lucy let out a small cry of shock and stepped back, only to be met with the lean bulk of Esma'il directly behind her. She could hear the surprised cries of her crew mingling with the chuckles of Esma'il's men, but she had eyes only for the lovely caravel, which was even now burning before her.

"Surprising, isn't it, how much destruction fire can cause, especially when aided by oil and pitch. What fragile ships we sail across the furious seas in, Majesty. How easy they are to destroy."

"Why?" she whispered, unable to tear her eyes from the terrible sight of the _Euthymia'_s destruction.

"Why? Because I want you to understand that I am not after a ransom, little queen. I do not want your country's gold or jewels. You are meant for a far deeper game, Queen Lucy. That is something that, until now, I think you have not understood." He paused and, very gently, took her chin in one calloused hand, forcing her to look up at him.

She glared, anger and rage and fear vying for dominion in her mind, and she felt tears being to form. "But I think you understand now," he said with satisfaction, letting her chin drop. "I think we understand each other."

Lucy jerked away, pulling in a sobbing breath in an attempt to calm herself. It was not for him to see he cry, not for him to know her fear. _I am a queen, and must act as such_.

She turned her eyes back towards the _Euthymia_. The smell of burning wood and scorched cloth was already floating on the warm air. Before her horrified eyes, the devouring flame raced up the rigging to consume the bold Narnian pennant.

As Lucy watched her ship burn, she realized that she had never been so utterly alone.


	3. II: Day at Court

**II. Day at Court**

Edmund stepped out of the cool shade of the corridor onto the veranda and winced. Sunlight seemed to come from every direction, bouncing off the palace walls, emanating from the stone beneath his feet. Turning instinctively, he caught sight of the sea and let out a tiny whimper. With every new stab of bright, painful light, his head throbbed a little more. Slitting his eyes to peer through his lashes, he made his way across to the table where Susan sat looking through a sheaf of parchment, ignoring him gracefully.

At the sight of the remains of breakfast, his stomach gave a mournful rumble. He had eaten last… oh, yes. He'd skipped dinner because of his awful headache. It had been foolish, but the quiet darkness of his room had been so alluring. And now, at the sight of toast and fruit and- oh, Aslan- _eggs_, he was having difficulty containing himself. _This_ was worth getting out of bed for. _This_ was worth dragging himself down the stairs and out into the sunlight for. _This…_

A Faun skirted him skillfully, with a cheerful and altogether too loud "Good morning, King Edmund", and piled the dishes together before exiting the way he had come, taking with him what should have been Edmund's long overdue breakfast.

He stood rooted to the spot, mouth open and eyes wide. This was too much. The sun, this blasted humidity, his head, and now this. He was a king, Lion take it all. He deserved to be able to sit down to a little breakfast- not have it walk away from him! Transferring his irate gaze from the now empty hall to his sister, he stared down at her neatly arranged hair, willing her to pay attention to him.

After a few moments, she straightened her documents, sat them aside, and then finally deigned to greet him with a small smile. "Edmund, I see you're out of bed." When she caught sight of his face, her smile faded into mingled concern and exasperation. "Though perhaps you shouldn't be. You look awful."

He grunted something not even he could understand before dropping down into the chair opposite her with a long-suffering sigh. Breakfast, he reminded himself. Must have breakfast. And then sleep. He was trying to find some way to articulate this to Susan when he caught sight of the cup. It sat, innocently enough, off to Susan's right, half-drunk and, he was certain, lukewarm. But that didn't matter as much as the fact that it was sure to contain something that had once been warm. Not tea, he decided. Tea was Peter's morning drink of choice. Susan always preferred coffee- black as sin and just as strong, but coffee nonetheless.

_Coffee_.

"Edmund, you really should-" She saw the way he was eyeing her drink and pushed it over to him with surprisingly good grace. He accepted it gratefully and took a long drink, nearly gagging on the bitter taste. He would never understand how she drank it so black. It was the only way in the world Susan resembled a Dwarf; perhaps she'd picked the habit up from Deirra- after all, the good Dwarf lady had been serving Susan for several years, so perhaps-

"Edmund!" He jumped. "Are you paying attention to a word I'm saying?"

"Why is there no breakfast?"

Taking the abrupt change of topic in stride, she replied, "You were in bed." She rose with a sigh and checked the sun's progress, frowning when she noticed how high it had ascended into the impossibly blue sky. "And now we are going to be late for Court."

"Mmm." He took another bitter drink and managed to prevent himself from pulling a face. Really, someone was going to have to talk to Susan and get her to stop drinking this foul stuff before it killed her. Perhaps he could introduce her to some of the finest things in all of Narnia, namely milk and sugar. Yes, milk and sugar.

And then Susan's words hit him.

Late for Court. Court. _Court_. Another stabbing pain darted through his head at the very thought and he winced. "Susan, I can't. Not today."

"Oh, yes you can," she retorted, with more heat than he thought was warranted. "Lucy's away, and Peter and I won't be presiding over Court alone _again_."

That was a low blow, even for Susan. She knew quite well why he hadn't been there last Court session; in fact, she'd encouraged him to stay away. Squabbling Wrens, and he'd been worn down to nearly nothing by the horrid negotiations with that dastardly merchant from Galma. It would have been horrible- he would have had to flee the country. And now she was bringing it up, as though he'd planned to have the worst headache in Aslan's creation the very day that they happened to hold Court.

_Lucy wouldn't make me go_.

He almost said it, but the look on Susan's face told him that if he did, he would have much more than just a headache to worry about. Instead, he drained her foul coffee, slammed the cup onto the table, wincing at the noise, and rose with bad grace. "Susan," he growled, "any petitioner I frighten away, any Narnian I terrify, I will consider a direct result of your stubbornness."

"Of course you will. And now, if we could go?"

* * *

Leaning up against the stone wall in the cool dark of the corridor the sovereigns used as a functional entrance to the dais, Edmund tried to simultaneously listen to Susan and calm his aching head.

"Peter should be here already. He was up at the crack of dawn to see his soldier friend from Terebinthia off- something about tides and trade winds; he told me over breakfast, but I wasn't really paying attention."

Of course, Peter would get breakfast. King Get-Up-At-Ungodly-Hours Peter never missed breakfast. Edmund snorted, perhaps a bit too loudly, for Susan favored him with a censuring glance.

"Please, Edmund. Today is just as unpleasant for the rest of us, so if you could-"

"Susan, Edmund, there you are. I was beginning to think you'd abandoned me," Peter said as he rounded the corner, looking, if not exactly chipper, than at least entirely too cheerful for such a wretched morning. Edmund unloosed a frown on him and his brother stepped back in surprise. "Lion's mane, Ed. You look awful."

"Please," he said, massaging his temples gently, "don't talk to me." If Peter reacted to this, he didn't see it. His eyes were screwed shut and be was hastily making a deal with himself. If he could make it through the session- just make it through, forget being polite- he would have dinner in his room and shut himself in until the headache faded.

In the silence, Susan announced, "I've got to speak with the chamberlain, so if the two of you will excuse me."

Edmund waited, listening to the silken whisper of her gown as she walked away. In the throne room, the sound of voices gradually grew louder as the hall filled with courtiers, guards, and suppliants. It was going to be a very long day, judging by that din.

"You can open your eyes now; she's gone." Edmund cracked his eyes to see a very concerned Peter peering closely at him. "Look, Ed. Make it through noon and I promise I'll find some excuse for you to get out. Diplomatic meeting, flooding, refreshments. Something."

A promise from Peter was as good as done. And noon, all things considered, wasn't so far off; less than three hours, Edmund guessed. It was something only Peter would promise, and he felt a warm rush of affection for his brother. "Peter, you are a king among men."

Laughing, Peter replied, "Well, actually-"

"My Kings?" Clea gracefully slipped into the back corridor from the Great Hall. She curtseyed neatly, beautiful and perfectly composed as always. It was common knowledge that Clea was the Naiad of the reflecting pool in the Northern rose garden, though she resembled her wilder sisters only by the cerulean tinge of her skin and the fact that she seemed to look _through_ everything. No one was really sure why she preferred the somewhat ordered life of the court to the freer life that most Naiads tended to follow, though Edmund suspected it had to do with the fact that she'd inhabited that pool even when it was naught but a frozen puddle during the Hundred Years' Winter. In any case, she served as the perfect organizer, especially when her sovereigns were being less than cooperative. "My Kings, Queen Susan asked me to relay that Court will begin as soon as you are ready."

_Court_. Edmund closed his eyes, breathed deeply. _Just three hours_. When he opened them again, both Peter and Clea were staring at him, wearing identical looks of pity. Ah, well. There were some things in life you simply had to endure. "Clea, how is it looking?"

"Full, King Edmund. Not as bad as it's been in the past, but still a full day. From what I can gather, a great number of the southern Sheep are here for the settlement of a dispute over grazing lands." Edmund frowned and she sighed, saying, "Please, your Majesty, don't ask me about Mob politics."

"Of course not." Inwardly, he groaned. Sheep weren't the worst that could happen, but they did rank fairly high on the list. At least they weren't unusually loud or rowdy, as Narnians creatures went. Unless they'd brought their Lambs. Aslan help him, if they'd brought Lambs. "Peter, shall we?"

"We might as well."

Gesturing for Peter to lead the way, Edmund followed his brother out onto the dais, attempting to look stately. Of course, looking stately was difficult when all he could think of was how long it was going to take to resolve the Sheep matter. Clea was right; Mob politics always were complicated. But if Sheep were the worst, he could get through until noon. Probably.

As he stepped out into the light of the Great Hall, the heat struck him like a wall. It had been cool enough in the darkness of the corridor but here, with light pouring in from the multitude of windows and a crowd of tightly pressed people, Narnian Creatures, and Animals, the warmth was oppressive. Even the breeze floating in off the sea did little to subdue the raging heat of the summer's day. He could tell, though it came him no pleasure at all to know, that it would only get worse as the day progressed. Something to look forward to, he supposed.

He found his throne, more due to habit and luck than to attention, and bowed. At his left, Peter and Susan did the same, bowing to the assembled Court. The three sat as one and the Court bowed in return. Edmund have been to many courts in the years since becoming king and he liked none so well as his own. There was bias there, of course, but he felt he had a right to be proud of a Court that could so well and so justly deal with a land so diverse.

"Your Majesties." Virin, court chamberlain, bowed to the kings and queen. Relaxing just a bit, Edmund leaned back against the cool marble and decided that he would at least try to enjoy himself. Virin was helping; he was certain that the Gibbon, with a talent for moving the Court along at a brisk pace, would be more than a match for the Mob. "May I have your gracious leave to open your Royal Court, on this most auspicious day of Sunbright?"

Peter gave a stately nod of his head, answering as High King. "You have our leave, Virin." Edmund snorted; you wouldn't have known that not five minutes ago the gracious High King had been conspiring to help him escape.

"Then with your blessing I present the first order of business." Virin cleared his throat and checked his list surreptitiously. "Sir Chalcon of Archenland, with a petition regarding the uptake of orchards on the southwestern border."

There was a stir in the assembly and Sir Chalcon approached the dais, bowing and wearing the look of a man who had come for a purpose and would not leave without the answer he desired. _Wonderful_. Edmund could have groaned aloud, would it not have been grossly lacking royal dignity.

"Your Majesties," Chalcon began, face red and voice eager, "I am eternally grateful that you have deigned to hear my petition." _Not as grateful as I'll be when you leave_, Edmund thought viciously, plastering a wisely inquisitive look on his face. "As your Majesties may know, I own an estate on Narnia's southwestern border, where I have several acres dedicated to orchards."

"We are aware of it, Sir Chalcon," Susan replied, smiling graciously at the elderly knight. "Though I do wonder if perhaps your time might not be better spent in King Lune's court, as your estate is, in fact, in Archenland."

Chalcon managed to ignore Susan's thinly veiled hint, forging on into his argument with a tenacity that Edmund could almost- _almost_- admire. "Yes, your Majesty, but you see, my petition is in regard to your subjects…"

Chalcon continued speaking but Edmund let his concentration slip away, thinking instead of the Mob business that Clea had mentioned. It was unusual for the Sheep to need arbitration; in most cases, they were very good about settling disputes within their own herds. Taken to outside parties, Mob business tended to get very messy, what with the various family relationships and the ridiculously complicated hierarchy that Edmund was still struggling to understand. At least it would be more interesting that this narrow-minded Sir Chalcon who couldn't comprehend that Dryads inhabiting his trees was a good thing.

"Your Majesties," Virin announced, and Edmund jumped, caught off guard by the finish of Sir Chalcon's case, "I present Philots, leader of the Stormness Mob, and Malah, leader of the Glasswater Mob."

"Malah, Philots, you are welcome in Cair Paravel." Peter nodded respectfully to each Sheep, making sure to look both square in the eye. Sheep may be herd Animals by instinct, but the leaders of those herds were highly confrontational and easily offended. They best thing to do when dealing with a Sheep was to establish the pecking order as quickly as possible. "How may we serve the southern Mobs?"

Malah, slightly larger than Philots, stepped forward quickly and bobbed his head in the general direction of the dais. "You see, your Majesties, it's like this. The Glasswater Mob has the rights to all the land east of the Creek; always has. So when this young upstart and his Mob move in, we feel threatened."

Edmund frowned. "All the land east of the Creek, you say. And how far south do you consider your Mob's claim to run?" He doubted that Malah would attempt to claim the land all the way to Archenland's border. It would be ridiculous to try and claim so large an area, even for a Sheep.

"Oh, to the mountains, to be sure, King Edmund," Malah replied easily, as though that was the obvious answer.

"You've no claim to so much land, Malah!" Philots burst out, looking mad enough to charge his adversary. Snorting in irritation, he turned to the dais and cried, "He's no right, your Majesties. The Stormness Mob has the right to land in the south."

"Cousin, don't embarrass yourself before our kings and queens."

"Speak for yourself, Malah! You're denying my Mob their land, the land that was agreed upon!"

_Oh, Aslan_. The politics of _Sheep_. Cousins and nephews and Mobs splitting at the drop of a hat. He could never keep it all straight. Apparently the Sheep couldn't, either. _Aslan give me patience_. "My good Sheep," Edmund began, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the bickering Animals.

"Your father had no right to make the claim to lands all the way to the sea!"

"It wasn't _my_ grandfather who split the Mob!"

"No, it was _your _grandfather who was convinced that the Mob should ally itself with the Witch!"

"Lies! Lies, all lies!"

With a groan, Edmund slumped back against his throne. Peter shot him a look that spoke of annoyance that only deepened as the Sheep's voices grew louder. Virin tried desperately to silence the pair, though Edmund doubted even the chamberlain would be able to do so without using force, which, come to think of it, he wasn't entirely adverse to. Anything to make them stop shouting.

Philots and Malah continued to shout, Edmund's head continued to ache, and the Great Hall continued to become miserably hot. When the doors to the hall were flung open, Edmund's eyes flew to them. He couldn't think why anyone would feel the need to announce their arrival in such a dramatic manner- one might almost think Narnia was being invaded. But he didn't mind, really. If it would silence the Sheep, Edmund was all for it.

He nearly cried out in shock when he saw who the new arrival was. Thierry, Captain of the Scouts and veteran of more wars and skirmishes that Edmund cared to consider, loped down the center aisle of the Hall, silent as a shadow. This marked the first time that he had ever seen Captain Thierry call attention of any kind to himself, save for in a battle. The Panther generally preferred to work unseen and unheard, and his blatant disregard for the stir he was causing made Edmund's stomach clench.

The mere presence of the Panther immediately silenced the Sheep, who fell back to their respective Mobs, looking cowed. Thierry slid to a graceful stop next to Virin and whispered very briefly into the chamberlain's ear.

Though he would never have imagined it possible, Edmund saw Virin go pale beneath his silky coat. The chamberlain turned to the dais with a strange look in his eye and quickly mounted the steps. Peter leaned forward to hear Virin's news, his face set.

Perhaps there had been an attack on one of the Western garrisons; it was really too early in the year for such attacks, but stranger things had been known to happen. _Please, let it be bandits. Let a garrison have been attacked._ Edmund's heart began to race. _Please, Aslan, let it not be Lucy. Let it be a garrison, a diplomatic party, an invasion._ He tried to put the thought from his head; Lucy was fine, she was just going to Terebinthia, and aboard the _Euthymia_, no less. She was a fast ship, a safe ship. Lucy was fine. _Please, Aslan, let her be fine._

Virin broke off and Peter straightened as if in a dream. _Let it not be Lucy_. Edmund looked to his brother for some sign, some confirmation that all was well. But when he looked at Peter's grey face, the only thing he saw was his nightmare come true.


	4. III: Tidings from the Sea

_Alas, a very great delay. I can only offer my heartfelt apologies for the lack of frequent updates. Thanks are also due for the valiant beta skills of Tonzura123. As for the rest, 'tis business as usual: I own nothing, etc._

_

* * *

_

**III. Tidings from the Sea**

Virin stepped back from Peter's throne, looking uncertain as to what his High King's reaction would be. Peter, for his part, felt strangely calm. He knew that he should be feeling something, anything, but for the moment all he could do was stare. Straightening as though in a dream, he turned first to Edmund and then to Susan, unsure of what he was looking for as he did so.

Edmund's face was ashen, much as Peter imagined his own must look, but still he felt nothing. It was only when he saw the way Susan's eyes turned suddenly over-bright when he looked to her did he seem to awaken.

Virin's news came crashing down on him; Lucy, taken. Abducted from a peaceful ship in the middle of a peaceful, relatively unofficial visit to Terebinthia. Taken for no discernable reason, in the middle of a peace…

He didn't even realize that he had risen until he heard Susan whisper, "Peter, wait-"

Shaking his head vaguely, he looked out across the Great Hall, taking in the unnatural silence and the pale looks on the faces of those who had already gathered that something was very, very wrong. And then he fled.

As he stormed off the dais and into the back passageway, he heard Susan say, a little flatly, "Court is dismissed."

It never occurred to him to try and act with royal dignity. He simply went as far as he could as quickly as possible. Striding blindly through the corridors, he took an oddly rambling path through Cair Paravel that ended only when he found himself in the conservatory at the top of the southeastern tower with no memory of how he'd gotten there. His breath came in short, erratic bursts after the charge up the stairs that he couldn't make himself remember; odd, how this room had always been a place where everything had been calm and relatively quiet. The large windows and glass roof left no cover from the blazing sun or the sparkling sea; Peter, desiring only solitude and a place to think, felt suddenly unprotected.

He froze in the center of the room, his thoughts rushing.

_Your Majesty, Queen Lucy's ship has been taken… a day's journey from Terebinthia, or so it is measured… no provocation… no colors that could be seen… Lucy's ship has been taken… Lucy's ship… taken by pirates… no colors… pirates…_

"Peter?" Edmund's voice was quiet, but Peter could detect a hint of the barely controlled rage that he knew must be coursing through his brother. Rage and, perhaps, fear. "Peter, you've run the wrong way. We've got to go all the way down to the shore pavilion."

"I shouldn't have let her go. Not on her own." His voice came out absolutely flat; all his energy was tied up in feeding his anger and he certainly had none to waste on sounding like himself. "Certainly not with so small an entourage."

Edmund sighed, managing to sound both ill-used and sympathetic at once. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, placing a firm hand on Peter's shoulder and forcibly turning him so that their eyes met. "She'd have fought you, and you would have lost. The result would have been the same." His eyes bored into Peter's, searching for Aslan only knew what. "Please, Peter, don't waste our precious time blaming yourself."

Precious time. Very precious, yes; every minute they wasted was another minute Lucy spent with her captors, another minute her life was at risk. He knew this, yet he couldn't quite bring himself to leave, despite the fact that Edmund was beginning to lead him towards the conservatory door. Jerking free of his brother's grip, he fled to the window and stared out at the sea. "She's out there, somewhere." He pressed his hand against the glass. "I should have sent the whole navy to escort her."

Yes, the entire navy, and he should have gone with her as well. But she had been so insistent on taking this voyage alone; she did so love to be on the open sea, with the wind in her hair and the sun on her face. The _Euthymia_ was Lucy's ship, designed and built with her in mind, to be a safe ship for her to take on short or long voyages wherever she so desired. The ship had been her twelfth birthday present from the three of them- Peter, Susan and Edmund. They'd given her the means of freedom and look where it'd gotten her. The thought threatened to overwhelm him but he thrust it down. Edmund was right, as usual; he needed to concentrate so as not to waste any of their already too precious time.

"Peter, Susan will be waiting."

Waiting. Waiting for him, Narnia's High King, waiting for him to lead calmly and coolly. It was the last thing he wanted to do- oh, Aslan, the very last- but it had to be done. They could not go after Lucy until they knew where she was. And as soon as he knew where to sail, he would find her. "As you say, Edmund. Let's meet them."

"Yes?"

He nodded, trying to run a hand through his hair and inadvertently knocking his crown askew. The moment he took straightening it was all the time he allowed himself before nodding once more to his brother and following him from the conservatory. Edmund went quickly, nearly jogging down the stairs. It was, Peter reflected somewhat dryly, Edmund's way of showing his worry. Edmund would run himself absolutely ragged, not that Peter, in his current state, would be much of a deterrent to that.

Edmund took the less frequented way, obviously trying to avoid bringing either himself or Peter into contact with any well-meaning Narnians or, worse, guests. The thought of trying to accept the condolences or assurances of any visitors made Peter shudder- it was enough that Lucy was taken without having to hear people speak about how _sorry_ they were about the event; as though their sympathy would make the situation any better. Fortunately enough, Edmund knew the palace as well as Peter, if not better, and they met no one until they were forced to chance the much more frequented passages on the lower floors.

Letting Edmund lead allowed Peter the chance to get his thoughts in some semblance of order. He had to find her. Find her and get her back and- wait, no. First things first. The three of them would have to gather people together, captains and sailors and naval experts. They would have to find exactly where her ship had been taken and where the pirates would head. And then they would go after them. But thinking about that made his blood rush and his breath unsteady and the last thing he needed now was to lose what remained of his temper.

"Your Majesties!"

Edmund stopped abruptly. Peter, caught up in his own thoughts, ran into his brother's back, jostling them both.

"Your Majesties, a moment."

Steeling himself for an unpleasant conversation, he turned and was surprised and a bit relieved to see that the urgent voice belonged to Lord Kael rather than to some incompetent ambassador. Though Kael's ancestors hailed from Archenland, the lord professed a deep fondness for Narnia and was quite a favorite at court. Older than Peter, he was still a young man and his gentle demeanor and quick wit allowed him to fit very easily into Narnian life. He was liked by all the sovereigns and was a special friend of Lucy. Peter wondered if he'd heard the news- Lucy's capture would surely hurt him as well.

Kael approached from the direction of the Great Hall, his aquiline face stern, and bowed low to his sovereigns. "Lord Kael," Edmund said, his own relief evident in his voice.

"King Edmund, King Peter." He briefly flashed his brilliant smile and then, looking pained, said, "I feel that I must beg your forgiveness for the actions of my uncle." Peter frowned, trying to remember the family connection and Kael, seeing this, continued, "Sir Chalcon, King Peter. I have tried to convince him of the benefits of having Dryads in his orchard, but he is an old gentleman, sire, and stubborn. I apologize for any inconvenience."

"Of course, Kael, of course," Peter said distractedly, trying to find a way to end the conversation as quickly as possible. He couldn't just walk away- that would beg a question. But very minute wasted was another minute Lucy was with those pirates…

Edmund must have seen his distress, for he interjected regally, "There is no need to apologize, Lord Kael. Now, if you will excuse us…"

"Of course, sire."

Peter turned on his heel and had already begun to head for the door when he heard Kael add, "Your Majesty, I have heard a most terrible rumor. The Valiant Queen…"

"Taken, Kael," Edmund said flatly. Peter stiffened and turned back reluctantly. He'd wanted this to be kept quiet, but he knew, somewhere, that was irrational. In a court the size of Cair Paravel, any news that one courtier knew was known by half the country in less than an hour. Especially news of this magnitude.

Kael's usually laughing eyes hardened and he sighed. "I feared that there might be some truth in gossips, sire. Has there been any word on who would perpetrate such an act?"

"It would seem that the pirates have grown even bolder than we could ever have predicted," Edmund put in dryly, his frustration beginning to leak out in the shortness of his tone.

"Pirates?" Kael's surprise was evident; his eyes widened briefly and he looked from one king's face to the other. "I did not believe they would ever grow so bold. Truly, your Majesties, if there is any service I may render you in this time of trouble, please, do not hesitate to call upon me."

"We thank you, Lord Kael."

Kael made another deep bow and disappeared the way he had come. Before he was gone from sight, Peter turned once more and left the Cair at a near run, with Edmund close behind. He slipped out through one of the numerous smaller entrances into a carefully tended garden. The sun was directly overhead, its fierce heat beating on the back of Peter's neck like a living thing- it nearly _was_ a living thing in Sunbright. But he paid no mind to it, moving quickly though the labyrinth of hedges and flowerbeds. It wasn't far to the seaside pavilion, not if you knew the short cut through the terrace gardens, as Peter did. He made the entire journey at a pace that Peter would have been classified, if he had cared for such things, as being only slightly slower than a sprint, arriving at the pavilion less than ten minutes after Edmund had come to find him, despite the distance from the southeastern tower and their conversation with Lord Kael.

As he passed through the entrance pillars he took a deep breath, realizing that he had taken a quicker pace than he should have, if he wanted to look in control of himself before whomever it was he was to meet. But then, he wasn't in control of himself, not in the least, though the ferocious rage had passed. It was a smaller anger now, though no less potent, and he could feel it settling in his chest, waiting. For now it would serve to learn and plan. _And then I'll find you, Lu._

Though he suspected that he looked wild-eyed and less than royal, he could not see the point in attempting to collect himself when he knew it would be futile. His poor valet would go into hysterics if he could see him now, but there was really nothing to do about it. Hopefully Edmund and Susan would make up for his lack of dignity.

His hopes were confirmed when he saw Susan calmly sitting on one of the stone benches, her hands folded and back straight. If it weren't for the slight tremble of her lips and the too-tight clenching of her clasped hands, she could have been waiting demurely at a party. She was worried, angry, horrified, and yet still a queen. In this moment of pure confusion, Peter thought that he had never been prouder of her than he was now.

She looked up and smiled grimly at the sight of him. "Peter," she said, gesturing slightly less gracefully than was usual to the figure who rested on the pavilion's seaward edge, "this is Sapene; she brought the message."

He remembered his manners in time to bow to the Mermaid. He was sure, upon raising his eyes to truly look at her, that he'd seen her before. The cobalt tint to her skin and the flashing gold eyes were vaguely familiar, but he couldn't call to mind where he'd seen her previously. Shaking such irrelevant thoughts away, he said, "I thank you for bearing such a difficult message, lady, and Narnia will be eternally grateful for any information you can impart as to the whereabouts of Queen Lucy."

"I wish there were no such message, High King." The golden eyes flicked to Susan and Sapene continued, "As I told the Gentle Queen, I myself did not see the capture of the _Euthymia_, but the news traveled through our network as quickly as the ocean currents could bear it- this noon will have made it the second day since the capture."

Footsteps from behind heralded Edmund's arrival. "Ah," he said, drawing to a halt beside Peter and bowing. "Sapene- I thought it might be you." He was collected, but Peter could see him seething just beneath the surface. Really, Edmund was no better off than he. Peter smiled humorlessly.

"I've sent a messenger to Lord Darrin requesting him to meet us in the northern Counsel Hall in half an hour. Will that be enough time, lady?"

"More than enough, Just King," she said, shrugging. "My message is short enough. But first, I have a token I was bidden give you, so that you will know the truth of what I say."

"Sapene, that's quite unnecessary-"

"Please, Gentle Queen."

Susan sighed but nodded, and Peter was suddenly, fervently glad that it was Susan and not he who had taken the lead in this discussion. There were Mer-folk customs pertaining to dealing with royalty that he just could not have endured at the moment, not the least of these being the necessity of proving one's veracity.

"Thank you." Reaching back to the sheath strapped across her back, the Mermaid drew forth an achingly familiar dagger. The Lion's head pommel gleamed dully as she passed it to Peter, and the bright steel was chill from so many miles in the sea. "The pirate captain cast it away, not knowing there was a watcher in the water. It is a warning, but also a hope; the Valiant Queen knows help is coming."

Gripping the blade tightly, Peter nodded. _She knows help is coming, at least. But is it enough?_ Questions without answers, fears without resolutions. But Lucy knew they were coming, and she would keep herself safe, he was sure of that.

At a nod from Susan, the Mermaid began. "As your Majesties know, the Valiant Queen sailed to Galma with her escort little more than a fortnight ago- I was a part of that detail." And then Peter remembered why Sapene looked so familiar. He couldn't be blamed for forgetting her name, he supposed- he'd only spoken to her once or twice before- but she was the one who, along with Susan and Lucy, had proposed a detail of Mer-folk for every Narnian ship sailing during peacetime. It was a good practice, and much more efficient for sending messages than using Birds. _And_, he told himself uneasily, _just think where we'd be today if Susan hadn't been so supportive of the idea._

"It was an uneventful voyage with calm seas and fair winds." Sapene's voice had taken on the monotony of a learned-by-heart report. "The _Euthymia_ reached Galma's harbor on the morning of the second day. The Valiant Queen stayed eight days and then made for Terebinthia- that's a three-day journey, four if the winds aren't favorable. All was well until the second day and then- that's when she was taken."

Susan, who had been silent and still throughout Sapene's report, stiffened and asked, "And you say you yourself did not witness this?"

"No, Majesty. The swim from Galma to Terebinthia is a long one, and I'm no distance swimmer. Few are, in fact. We had a relay set up for the journey- one swimmer was to remain with the Valiant Queen's ship at all times. It was a good system, until the ship was taken. And then when the escort had to leave to bring the news, there was no one to follow the Queen."

"So no one knows where Lucy is now?" Peter was on the verge of screaming. There'd been a tiny hope that Lucy would still have her Mer-escort, but now…

"Not exactly, High King. But we know the general area, and it won't be too long before the sea tells us. Look."

Sapene reached out a damp hand to the stones. Working quickly, she traced a rough map of the Eastern Sea, concentrating on the area between Galma and Terebinthia. "Here," she said, pointing to an area slightly to the northwest of Terebinthia, "is where the _Euthymia_ was taken. The seas have been rough in the east since that day, so he can't have gotten far. We'll find the Valiant Queen," she added, golden eyes taking on a fierce light, "and when we do, Majesties, rest assured, there will be no safety on the seas for her captor."

"And what of her captor?" Edmund asked eagerly, his eyes narrowed as he stared intently at the quickly fading sketch. "You've spoken little of him."

"Ah, Just King, we know little. The ship is called _Thanatos_, an ill name if ever I heard one. It is not a known ship- the currents speak nothing of her or her captain. She's a pirate's vessel, but beyond that we know nothing. But fear not; the sea will tell us, in her own time."

Peter was tired, so tired, and the knowledge that they knew so little made his exhaustion seem endless. "The sea will tell you," he said flatly. "And what does that mean, Sapene? What does that mean?"

A queer smile passed over her face. "The Dwarfs have their earth; the Centaurs, their sky. And we, High King, have the Sea. She is our mother as surely as you are our sovereigns and she hides nothing from her children. What she knows, we shall know."

A silence fell over the pavilion; one that Peter felt no responsibility to break. In the end, it was Susan who said, "We thank you, Sapene, for the great service you have rendered us and Narnia this day."

"Would that I could do more, Gentle Queen."

Peter felt Susan's eyes on him, clearly waiting for him to do something, but he ignored whatever her need was. Instead, he watched the sea, brilliant and powerful beneath the afternoon sun. Waves hissed on the sand and crashed on the cliffs, waves that, somewhere, had also beat upon the hull of the ship that held Lucy captive.

Peter shuddered.


	5. IV: Unraveling the Threads

_I fear that I must, once more, apologize for the great delay between this and the previous chapter. I must also give fair warning that, for this chapter at least, I am without a beta, and so any mistakes, flukes, or inconsistencies are mine and mine alone. Hopefully, this will be the only chapter during which I go it solo. Thank you, and enjoy.

* * *

_

**IV. Unraveling the Threads**

The bolt was thrown back with a loud snap. Lucy closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Already this was a ritual, already she was used to this horrible parody of normalcy. The thought revolted her, but it was true despite her feelings. Only two days and already she could predict almost exactly the time at which the bolt would be thrown and the door would swing open to admit the crewmember who had been given the task of delivering her meals. _See now,_ whispered the snide voice that she was having increasing trouble in dislodging, _you really can learn to endure anything…_

Folding her hands in her lap, she straightened her back and turned her eyes towards the door. She had little hope that it would be Captain Esma'il who appeared at her door, yet she could not help but anticipate it. Aslan only knows what she would do should he actually appear; fly at him, perhaps, or scold him. More likely, she knew, was the chance that she would greet him with the same cold, furious gaze she had bestowed upon every other crewmember of the _Thanatos _she'd met since her capture.

The door swung open revealing, to her disappointment but not her surprise, none other than Sken, the youngest, largest, and possibly the dullest man aboard the ship. Giving her the same flat-eyed look he'd given the past two days, he unceremoniously slammed the door behind him and, stomping across the small cabin, dropped the laden tray onto the neat, un-slept in bed.

Paying him no mind, Lucy cast one longing glance at the door now unlocked door. She'd tried escaping the first day she'd been imprisoned in the cabin, not that she'd gotten very far. It had been so easy, too easy, but she hadn't thought about that at the time. The only thing she'd thought about had been the elation she'd felt, right up until Parn had stepped out from around a corner and grabbed her neatly. "Nice try, lassie," he'd whispered into her hair as she'd struggled in his strong arms. "Try it again and I'll kill your crew, starting with the youngest and working up from there."

She hadn't doubted him then, and she didn't now. It was something in his tone of voice, and in her memory of Esma'il's eyes. The captain needed her. Her crew was leverage, to be cast aside when no longer convenient. But now she saw the trap, saw the simple cruelty of the unlocked door and the empty corridor, and it ate away at her.

"Captain says you're to get up off that floor and eat, Highness."

Lucy snorted mirthlessly. She'd sooner throw herself into the sea than take advantage of her simply but elegantly furnished prison, a fact of which Esma'il was well aware. "If he thinks such, he can come and speak with me directly. Otherwise I shall stay where I am."

Sken glared at her, to little effect. He didn't frighten her.

Esma'il, on the other hand…

Lucy suppressed a shudder.

Esma'il frightened her in a way that she'd never before thought possible. He wasn't the most dangerous enemy she'd ever encountered- there were creatures in Narnia that should have been far more terrifying to her than this man, and he certainly didn't measure up to Jadis. She'd fought these enemies, and laughed while doing so. She should be able to handle one ship's captain, even if he was more than he appeared to be at first glance.

At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

For two days now she'd sat in her well-furnished prison, trying to figure out just why Esma'il frightened her so much, and telling herself that he shouldn't. Yet despite the fact that he could in no way match a fierce Giant for pure horror or the vicious nature of the northern Rocs, there was something about him that unsettled her in the worst of ways, something that got up under her skin and, if she was being honest, terrified her.

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped, her body reacting to the long buildup of fear and stress. Half-leaping forward onto one knee, she spun and lashed out without thinking, striking hard in the direction the hand had come from. Expecting to come in contact with flesh or muscle, she braced herself for impact and threw her whole weight behind the blow that had been startled out of her. After all, if they were going to frighten her they needed to accept the consequences.

Her blow never fell. Instead, her wrist was caught in a steel grip and jerked upward, sending a lance of pain from wrist to shoulder. The sudden change in momentum and direction threw off her balance and she would have collapsed were it not for the vise-like grip she was trapped in.

She was still frightened, and the thought occurred to her that she should be even more so now than before, but her anger had risen with the sudden action, and so it was with rage rather than terror that she met Sken's glare. In his eyes she saw, as though reflected, the sight of the _Euthymia_ burning. For a brief moment she could smell the blazing timber, hear the horrid crash as the remains of the main mast came crashing down onto the deck before it had all sunk, charred and ruined, into the sea.

She gasped, blinking furiously. Seeing her dismay, Sken smirked and loosened his hold.

"What were you thinking, Highness, insulting the Captain like th-"

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get. Out," she said again, her voice flat and cold. Straightening her legs, she rose out of her half-crouch, her eyes closed and her breath coming in short, labored bursts. The _Euthymia_, her captain, her crew… Two days it had taken, but it was finally home. Two days and she could finally feel it. She could have wept, but the rising rage in her was too strong for that. It was turning her sorrow into anger, her mourning into restless energy. Right now she didn't need to think- she needed to act. And if Sken was not out of her prison in mere seconds, she was going to direct that energy at him. "_Now_."

She stared him down and, for a moment, he stared back. When his eyes widened and he involuntarily loosened his hold on her wrist, she knew he'd seen the wildness in her eyes. She could feel it surging through her, devouring her fear and her prudence. It was something she probably should have been concerned about, this sudden lack of fear, but it was too exhilarating.

Rather, she _embraced_ it.

"Fine," he muttered, dropping her arm and nearly scurrying to the door. "Fine." The door was open and he was out of it faster than ever before, and the small wild part of her smiled at that.

Standing in the middle of the cabin that was her prison, Lucy closed her eyes and let the rage course through her. The bolt snapped into place and the last of her carefully cultivated, desperately maintained composure shattered.

The tray of food went first, flying across the room to collide with the wall, making a satisfyingly loud noise. Wine splashed on the wood, spreading and staining as it went, like blood. Like blood and fire and burning ships and- and-

She grabbed the cabin's single chair unthinkingly and smashed it against the nearest wall. With a surprisingly loud noise the legs cracked, but nothing further. She tried again, smashing and smashing, beating the thing as though it had tried to kill her. One, two, three, four…

And all the while she was sobbing, shouting through her tears, beating her rage and terror out in her small prison. Desperate for answers or succor, she turned to the one person who'd never failed her, the one who was always there. The one she felt almost distanced from.

"Why?" _Slam._ "Why, Aslan, why?" _Slam. Crack. Slam. _"Oh, Aslan," _slam_, "why why why why why…"

_Slam. Slam. Crack._

The abused chair fell to the floor and she fell with it, dropping bonelessly to lie among the splinters and slivers of wood. Her hands bled, her body shook, and her voice cracked with exhaustion as she pled with the Lion. Everything that had happened, everything she had seen, had done, had experienced- all of it came falling down upon her and she had no way of dealing with it now, no façade to hide behind, no rage. There was to be no more escaping what had been done, no more pushing it back with whispers of queenly duty. She was alone now.

Her breath caught in her throat as she sought to draw it. Sobbing, gasping, she bent her head to the splinter-covered floor and with the last of her strength began to whisper,

"Aslan, watch over me in this hour of darkness…"

As the prayer tumbled instinctually from her lips, her mind raged. _Why, Aslan, why has this happened? Why, why, why, why, why…

* * *

_

The first thing Lucy noticed when she woke was the dull throbbing in her hands. For a moment she remained motionless, pondering the pain. As her mind slowly pulled itself into full consciousness, she began to notice other things. The way her shoulders and back ached, for example, and the fact that her neck was so stiff as to nearly be impossible to move.

With an extraordinary amount of willpower and a small groan, she straightened. Her back popped and her head protested mightily, but in the end she managed to get herself into a more or less kneeling position, and from there she surveyed the damage she had done.

The hapless chair was in pieces. The wall against which she had beaten it was scuffed and there might possibly be gouges, though she couldn't tell from where she was on the floor. The wine had dried, uncomfortably dark, on the wall and the remains of her lunch lay mixed in with broken crockery.

Her hands, too, were damaged and she could feel them sting even as she tried desperately to ignore the sensation. There were other, more important, things to be concerned about than the state of her hands. The most pressing- indeed, the thing that had her heart racing even as she attempted to drag her weary mind back from the realm of uneasy sleep- was the passage of time. How long had she slept? It had been midmorning when Sken had brought her the first of two meals, midmorning when she'd fallen to pieces… but now? Was it possible that she'd slept through the evening meal, as well? She doubted it, for it seemed supremely unlike either Esma'il or any of his crew to miss the chance to hold something over her and this spectacular display of fear and anger was not something they would have let pass without comment. And so it must not yet be time for them to bring the second meal.

The thought flashed through her mind and relief washed over her. She had time, then, time for… what? She was in no different position than she had been before her paroxysm of rage, save that she had managed to injure her hands and destroy a piece of Esma'il's furniture. The thought gave her entirely too much pleasure to be proper, but there it was. Still, the thrill of bashing in the chair aside, she was in exactly the same predicament as before; nothing had changed, unless…

Unless it had. She could not say why this would be, but something did feel different. She was not in any less danger, her troubles were no less than they had been before, and yet something was different.

_It is not the situation that has changed, _she mused, absentmindedly picking splinters from her hands, _nor has Esma'il come in to offer tea and sympathy._ The thought made her laugh once more, and she was struck by her own audacity. Laughing in her predicament? It was ridiculous. She would never have dared to do such a thing earlier in the day.

And there it was. _She_ would never have dared to do such a thing earlier, and yet she did it now. Nothing had changed- nothing but herself, that is. Her problems had not become smaller, not her burden less heavy, but she had become more able to bear it.

Words that Edmund had once whispered to her, quietly and confidently, returned with startling clarity. _"Aslan can't always be rescuing us, Lu. And in those times, he gives us the ability to rescue ourselves."_

Lucy thanked the Lion with her whole heart, understanding that her fear and anger had been transformed into a quiet, cold determination that could, if she were strong enough, see her through this. It could not last forever, this sensation of steely resolve that had nothing whatsoever to do with the way she actually felt, but she would use it while it lasted and be thankful for it. _This is something not even you could have foreseen, Esma'il_._ Let us see how you deal with a queen who has overcome both fear and anger._

But thoughts of Esma'il led to thoughts of the _Euthymia_, and those led to thoughts of… _"You find yourself caught up in an even greater game than you can imagine"_. It was the last thing in the world she wished to think about, but it was also the most important. If she could discover what it was the so-called 'lord' was after, she would be able to manipulate that and, hopefully, use it to her own advantage.

With a sigh she rose from the floor, grimacing as her muscles chided her for falling asleep in such an uncomfortable position. She stretched, hearing joints pop with surprising loudness, and then began to pace.

At first she did nothing but count, count and breathe. Eleven steps up, eleven steps down. It was a large enough cabin, considering, though not quite large enough to give the proper sort of rhythm for this sort of thing. But she'd always thought better when on the move, even when there was only so much room to work with. She was like Peter in that regard- both were constantly moving, constantly needing motion to stimulate their thoughts. Edmund and Susan, on the other hand, had the remarkable ability to freeze, to become utterly still and totally quiet. It was something that Lucy had always envied and, now, so far from her family and their familiar traits, thinking of it brought stinging tears to her eyes.

Chiding herself for a fool, she dashed them from her face and shook her head, as though by doing so she could shake away the thoughts. There were too many other things to worry about now. Now was the time to worry about why she was here.

Of all the possible reasons for kidnapping her, Lucy knew that the most obvious was ransom, yet she quickly discarded that thought. Esma'il himself had disavowed that motivation and, though she would more readily believe an Ape than she would the captain of the _Thanatos_, she couldn't see him being stupid enough to make the attempt to extract ransom from Narnia. Loath him she might, but she wasn't foolish enough to call him idiotic, and ransom had always seemed to be such a foolish proposition in her eyes. After all, even supposing that a kidnapper was able to collect ransom, where then would he go? No one in Narnia, Archenland, or the Isles would harbor a known kidnapper and, though he might plausibly take refuge in Calormen or one of the countries far to the south, surely he must know that Narnia's spy network could trace him anywhere he chose to run.

Calormen… now there was a thought that gave her pause. Narnia's relations with the southern empire had been cordial in recent years, but she was never fully trusting of the Tisroc's intent, though she doubted he would go so far as to have her captured. It was quite unlike the cautious ruler, but she wouldn't put it past some of the younger and more ambitious lords of the Tisroc's court.

A conspiracy, then? But a conspiracy among whom, and for what end? She felt it highly unlikely that Esma'il could have planned and executed this on his own, so a conspiracy fit that aspect. After all, he would have needed to plan very far in advance to even capture her in the first place-

It struck her like an avalanche, flooding her mind with disbelief and horror. _He would have had to plan far in advance even to capture me- oh, Aslan…_ The number of people who had known her planned route had been few, save for those in Cair Paravel. It was not as though her itinerary had been made widely available, for even though she and her siblings were trusting rulers, they were not fools. Esma'il had been waiting for her, he'd known where she would be and when. And that meant…

Lucy gasped in sudden pain and looked down; her already injured hands had been clenched so tight that the knuckles were white as bone, driving the splinters even deeper into her fingers and palms. She unclenched her hands purposefully, forcing herself to think on her dreadful realization as she did so. Esma'il had known where she would be, had known when to wait for her. He had known because he had someone in the Narnian court.

It shouldn't have hurt so much, realizing that there was a traitor in her court. After all, it was a common enough occurrence. Narnia was a blessed country, _her_ country, yet that did not make it immune to the problems that came with the rule of any kingdom. And yet… and yet… it did hurt. That someone she and her siblings had trusted enough to share her plans with had seen fit to betray her into Esma'il's hands… that was something she could not easily recover from.

She took a few unsteady steps and sank slowly onto the neatly made bed, her thoughts in turmoil. This whole mess made much more sense if there was a traitor thrown into the equation, and she had little doubt that she was right in assuming there was one. Yet the difficulty was not in making the leap to acknowledging the traitor; no, the difficult part was discovering whom it was.

Placing her throbbing hands gently in her lap, Lucy steeled herself against the unpleasantness of the task and began calling to mind all those at Cair Paravel who had known of her route to Terebinthia.

* * *

When the door was unlocked for the second meal of the day, Lucy was still seated on the bed, her hands still lying limply in her lap. At the sound of Sken's outraged snarl, she opened her eyes and raised her head to meet his fierce glare.

"You- you- you little hellcat!" he growled, staring at the disarray of her small prison. "Just who do you think is going to clean this up, 'eh?"

She met his anger with complete and total indifference. Her mind was full of far more important things than the impotent rage of one pirate- after all, Esma'il would never allow one of his crewmembers to hurt her on a mere whim. No, he would reserve that pleasure for himself.

And, sure of these things, it was with great calm that she ignored Sken's rage and only said, "I demand to speak to Captain Esma'il."

If she'd been in a different state of mind, she reflected, she would have greatly enjoying watching the emotions chase each other across Sken's dim face. As it was, she was only impatient with him. "You- you want to speak to the Captain?"

Repressing an irritated sigh, she arched one brow in her best impression of Susan's regal displeasure and replied, "I do not wish: I _demand_. Now."

Sken stood in confusion for a few moments before abruptly turning and leaving the cabin, taking Lucy's evening meal with him. Though she'd not eaten since the night before, she didn't resent his making off with her food. The thought of eating now made her stomach clench.

Sighing again, though this time in weariness, she shifted and began chewing on her lip, an old habit, and one that she'd worked hard to overcome. She'd spent hours racking her brain, trying to think of anyone she knew, anyone she trusted, who would have had reason to commit this most grievous betrayal. Yet each thread she'd followed had come up short, as she'd expected they would. Her route hadn't been shared with those whose names she liked, or with those who had the brightest jewels; it had been shared with those whom she had trusted deeply. Every potential betrayer was also a beloved friend. To imagine any one of them as a traitor was painful and, worse, unproductive.

The truth was that she was too close to the problem to view it objectively. She needed someone to help her follow her tangled thoughts, someone to act as both friend and counselor. Someone who knew her, and someone in whom she had faith enough to trust with her suspicions. On the _Thanatos_, her options were painfully limited.

Turning from her contemplation of possible traitors, she'd cast her mind over the list of the _Euthymia_'s crew she knew to still be alive, and had come up with Horen.

The elderly Faun, though not actually a counselor to any of Narnia's sovereigns, was a very close friend of hers. If she trusted any of her former crew to aid her in this, she trusted him. But to gain access to him, she needed Esma'il.

And so it was that she sat in her neat prison, racking her brain for what to say to Esma'il when he appeared praying that Aslan would aid her in gaining the help that she so desperately needed.


	6. V: Friendly Diplomacy

_Apologies grow wearisome, yet I can only offer them once again. As a side note: I seem to have found myself lacking a beta, a most dreadful circumstance. If there is anyone with the time or the interest, I would be most grateful for the assistance. As always, cheers and enjoy._

_

* * *

_

**V. Friendly Diplomacy**

"Your Majesties." Darrin rose as Susan and Peter entered, his eyes darting from face to face. Peter noted that the man was neither so calm nor so composed as he normally was and wondered, bitterly, how the rest of the Cair was taking the news of Lucy's capture.

_Lucy's capture._

A snarl rose in him at the thought, and the already-familiar mantra came to the forefront of his mind: _should have been there, should have protected her, should have saved her_ followed swiftly by_ find them, find them, and then…_

"Please, Lord Darrin," Susan said, her voice interrupting Peter's steady descent into rage. "Sit, please." The words were soft, but they evidenced the same power that Susan's voice had always held; Darrin sat, his eyes now glued to Susan's expressionless face. She sank swiftly into a seat opposite the ambassador's and turned to stare at Peter.

He stared back, his mind only half here, in this warm Counsel Hall; _should have been there, should have protected her, should have saved Lucy, Lucy, Lu-_

"Peter."

He started and met Susan's eyes. In them, he saw the same terror and rage that was so evidently coursing through him, yet Susan… she was handling this in her own way. And he was not making it any easier, he realized with a quick flash of guilt.

"I apologize Susan, Lord Darrin," he said, inclining his head to the older man. "My mind was elsewhere."

"Perfectly understandable, your Majesty." Peter couldn't stand the pity in Darrin's eyes. What good was pity when Lucy was captured, held; when no one knew where she was or what was happening to her or even, Aslan help him for even thinking such a thing, if she was still living? Peter slid into the chair at Susan's right, his heart pounding.

"I assume, then, that you have heard the news."

"I have, Queen Susan." Darrin paused and Peter was struck once more by how uncomfortable the ambassador seemed. He was distracted, nervous; Peter found that he missed the man's calm presence. To see such an experienced statesman so thrown off balance was disturbing. "To be quite honest, your Majesties, I doubt there is person in Cair Paravel who has not heard at least some rumor," he continued with a slightly bland smile, "and I am not without my sources."

Peter raised his brows at the last statement, more for form's sake than anything else. It was common knowledge among the four of them that Archenland had spies in Narnia's court; Peter certainly knew they had some in Lune's. While it was generally considered polite to ignore such facts of statecraft, well, Darrin was shaken; such an unusual admission was understandable and, a small but clear part of Peter's mind pointed out, more likely a sign of friendly familiarity and support than of any mistake on Darrin's part

"That is well," Susan said, completely unruffled by Darrin's apparent slip. She probably knew each of Archenland's spies by name, and, not unlikely, personally as well, Peter thought. There was a great deal more that went on behind Susan's lovely face than even her brothers knew, and certainly more than Lord Darrin suspected. "We can proceed, then, without the bothersome matter of filling in the details."

"Quite, Queen Susan. Will King Edmund be joining us?"

"Edmund," Peter said, thinking of the way Edmund's face had darkened through Sapene's report, and of the way he had vanished with little more than a significant look afterward, "will join us in his own time."

"Of course, King Peter."

Darrin looked at him expectantly, and Peter was suddenly bone-weary. _I cannot do this_, he thought suddenly_, I cannot sit here and speak calmly while knowing… knowing…_

But Susan saw his look and took the thread of the discussion smoothly from his shoulders, competent as only she could be. "Lord Darrin, Narnia is in dire need of aide. I believe you are aware that, even now, we have not fully recovered from the Winter." It was a calculated admission of weakness, the first move in a subtle and ever-present game. The thought of such political diplomacy, at such a time- _find them, find them, save her_- made Peter's blood boil.

"Your Majesty, Archenland is, of course, at your disposal in this matter. Such a blatant attack on a Narnian ship- and a royal Narnian ship, no less- points towards a level of boldness on the part of our pirates that I had not believed possible."

_Neither had I, Darrin, more fool I. Neither had I._

Darrin pursed his lips momentarily, then, seeming to come to a decision, said, "Queen Susan, King Peter, if I may speak plainly?"

"Quite frankly, Darrin,"- Susan dropped her calm façade momentarily and Peter saw there an exhaustion to match his own- "it would be a relief."

"Thank you. Narnia is, as your Majesties know, not as strong as it once was." Somewhere within Peter, a snarl rose at this, but if pushed it down forcefully. "You have recovered your country and, considering recent history, have put it into remarkably fine order, but you are weak on the sea. You know this."

"A navy is not built in a day, Darrin; nor even in a year." Peter kept the inner snarl from his voice only with a great effort. The navy was a sore point; they'd had to import shipmasters from Archenland, and sailors, too, to begin the reconstruction of Narnia's once powerful navy. Four years, and their fleet was still smaller than Archenland's. Lucy's voyage on the _Euthymia_ had been a sort of triumph for them all. _And look how that turned out_, the little voice whispered.

"Indeed, your Majesty; I will admit to a great deal of admiration that you have managed to create such an impressive fleet in so short a time. But the fact remains that Narnia's naval power is not what it once was."

That was an understatement. Narnia's ships had once dominated the Eastern Sea; Edmund had discovered, while helping Mithin to investigate the surprisingly large part of Cair Paravel's library that had survived Jadis' rule, that under Queen Swanwhite, Narnia had been by far the largest naval power. And then…

And then Jadis happened.

He resisted the urge to snarl yet again. It was becoming alarmingly frequent, that desire. At his left, Susan laid one of her own slender hands on his, a gentle- but entirely unbreakable- restraint. He settled for sighing with frustration instead. "Your point, Darrin?"

"Narnia was _the_ power on the sea, and then…" Darrin broke off, shrugging gently. "Archenland and Calormen were forced to compensate, obviously, but piracy has been far more common since the onset of the Winter. And neither we nor the Calormenes have ever experienced Narnia's luck in allying with the Mer-folk. That is, it would seem, a Narnian specialty. "

_Yes, it rather is, isn't it?_ That had been Lucy's forte though; Lucy's triumph, and Susan's. The strange, ethereal Mer-folk, with their loose system of clan alliances and fierce independence had formed relationships with Lucy and Susan far more quickly than they had with either Edmund or Peter. They were drawn to Susan by her intelligence- intelligence she never been able to hide from them, nor ever really bothered to try- and her wit. And Lucy, well, the Mer-folk of the clans near Cair Paravel respected Susan, and conducted business almost exclusively with her, but Lucy they loved.

And from the look of things with Darrin, that was a love that Peter was going to have to use to find his sister.

"So- and I pray you forgive my bluntness- there is nothing your people can tell us, Darrin?"

"Your Majesty, it is with great regret that I must say that there is not. I will have our records checked, of course, and will send word for our captains to be contacted, but we have never been able to gather information as well as Calormen and our relations with the Empire have somewhat… cooled of late."

Peter snorted at this, and even Susan raised one brow in restrained amusement._ Cooled, ha!_ More like frozen. Half the diplomatic messages Peter had received in the past month had been some form of polite insult from the Tisroc, asking Peter if he couldn't restrain his ally.

"Well, Darrin, Lune does constantly send raids across the border. You can't expect the Tisroc to just let it pass."

"Your Majesty."

Darrin rose smoothly, but Edmund waved him down impatiently. "No need to bother with the formalities. I'd say I've about as much patience for them as you do this morning- and all that bowing has aggravated my headache."

"Of course, your Majesty," Darrin said, managing a small bow before he sank back into his seat. Peter could see the light of a point scored in the ambassador's eyes.

"Peter, Susan," Edmund murmured, as he passed them. He dropped into the seat at Peter's right and lounged there, looking every bit as overly nonchalant- and, quite frankly, as insolent- as his many detractors accused him of being. Peter, though, could see the tension in him. It was the tension his brother carried when he felt helpless. It was the tension he carried when there was news, and bad news, at that.

Something within him sank.

"So, so." Edmund locked eyes with the ambassador. "Did I miss the part of our meeting where Darrin shares the fact that he knows nothing?" Darrin sighed. Susan raised one brow. Peter, surprised at himself, suffocated a snort in its infancy. "Because if so," his brother continued, seemingly oblivious to the reactions he was garnering, "I'd much rather move right past the rehashing of such… _useful_ information."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Darrin's voice was almost as light as Edmund's, and twice as smooth. "Please, do not allow me to deter you from sharing _your_ most useful information."

_Not now_, Peter thought, suddenly angry._ This is no time for your idiotic political rivalry to come up_. Because, though they all liked Darrin well enough, Edmund could never stop baiting him, and Darrin never bothered to abstain from retaliating. He wished the both of them could stop for one moment- Lion's mane, just one moment!- and perhaps deal with the issue at hand. _Lucy, Lucy, I'll find you_, _I'll come, hold on_…

"Edmund, Darrin," Susan spat, before Peter had the chance to roar at either one of them. The effect was rather akin to that of being drenched in ice water. "This will stop. Now."

It was effective on Darrin. Edmund, however, simply raised one brow in an imitation of Susan's earlier expression.

At his left, Peter could sense Susan's irritation mounting. Any second now, she'd lash out and, angry and afraid- _yes, Peter, afraid, admit it_- as they were, they would all disintegrate into bitterness and confusion. Susan had done her part. Edmund, no doubt, had done his. It was, Peter reflected, his own turn. And the sooner this was over, the better. No more politics. Action.

Accordingly, he fixed what he hoped was a calm gaze on the ambassador, beginning to speak just in time to halt what would no doubt have been an overly acerbic comment from his brother. "Lord Darrin, I fear that we have detained you for too long. You will, of course, wish to communicate with King Lune about our recent… troubles." _Don't think of it, don't think. Just talk._ "Please, feel free to borrow any of our Messengers to take the news to Anvard."

Darrin's face tightened, and for one awful minute Peter worried the man would fight him on this. Darrin was older, yes, and more experienced, but it wasn't his sister, damn it all, nor was this his country. But the tense moment passed and the ambassador, seeing the kind offer for what it was, apparently recognized discretion as the better part of valor. _Thank Aslan._

Smiling tightly, Darrin rose and bowed stiffly. "You are entirely correct, King Peter, and I thank you for your courtesy." At Peter's nod, he made his way to the door, turning before he left to add, "I will, of course, communicate any information that I may uncover that might aid you in your search."

There was a moment's pause before Edmund said, in a surprisingly soft voice, "We thank you, Lord Darrin."

Darrin bowed again, though this time there was no hint of any sense of a point scored on either side. And then he was gone, leaving the three of them sitting together, yet alarmingly alone.

Silence descended… and stretched on. Peter found himself too tired to break it. A quick glance out one of the windows told him that it was not yet noon. Not even noon! They'd only known of Lucy's capture, then, for a few short hours.

It felt like years.

Closing his eyes, Peter slumped. How was she, he wondered. Was she injured? He prayed not, and something in him raged even more at the thought. But it was so unlikely that she had been taken without some hurt, so unlikely that-

"Damn it all, Edmund! What the hell were you thinking?"

And the silence was broken.

Susan leapt to her feet, the pacific calm she'd displayed only moments before replaced by a snarl. She was trembling.

"Well, I couldn't very well have said, 'Darrin, be a good chap and scurry off while I relate to my siblings just how many people- your countrymen included- I've bribed and blackmailed and threatened in this past hour,' now could I?"

"And you don't think there was a better way of handling it than goading him?"

Edmund stared mutely back, his face set and his eyes blazing.

No, Peter realized; no, Edmund hadn't thought there was a better way. He'd needed Darrin gone, and so he'd provoked him into losing his temper, and Susan had smoothed it over, as Edmund had hoped she would. And now they were furious, mostly at what was happening and their helplessness to stop it; but that fury was spilling over into sniping at each other, because that was how Susan and Edmund relieved their helplessness.

Because this was what they did when Lucy wasn't here to help Peter counter them.

The thought made him feel wildly unbalanced, as though the world had suddenly slipped to one side in its place in the heavens. There were three now, rather than four, and there was no way to balance this kingdom with only the three of them.

"Susan…"

She paused in her tirade to look down at him, her eyes still furious, but the annoyance slid from her face and the biting remark died on her lips. "Peter, this is not your fault," she said, uncannily aware, as all of his family seemed to be, of his propensity to turn blame inward.

He shook his head.

"She's right, you know," Edmund chimed in, still lounging. Susan gave him an ironically grateful hint of a smile. Of, course, they would put a stop to their sparring to join forces against him… normally he would retaliate, with Lucy on his side and…

"You have some news, then? Since Darrin has, ah, left us…"

Edmund frowned at him, but seemed to decide that Peter's composure could wait until later to be cracked. Peter could hardly wait for _that_ conversation. He supposed he should simply be grateful that neither Susan nor Edmund was going to pursue the subject immediately; there were more important things at hand, and they both recognized that.

Edmund's lounging ceased, and he suddenly looked much more like a tactician than one of Lune's court fops. "First off all- and, in fact, I must go soon- I have set up a meeting with Nha'il."

Susan clenched the back of her chair with both hands and snarled, "That man's presence at our court is an insult in every way imaginable; you know that even better than I."

"Oh," Edmund said, with something that might have, to someone utterly unfamiliar with him, resembled a small smile, "Nha'il's not entirely worthless, if you can get past the fact that he has no morals, would sell his soul for a crescent, and is an absolutely abominable gambler."

"An abominable gambler? Brother, what have you… no. I don't want to know."

He waved a hand in Susan's direction. "Don't bother, it's not important."

"But you hate the man, Edmund," Peter reminded him, feeling that perhaps it was his turn to take part in this conversation, even if he would rather be sharpening swords or preparing ships or, even better, tearing that damned, abducting bastard apart. Conversation was better than brooding.

"Oh, Lion's mane, yes. As a man, he's wretched. But as an ambassador…" his brother trailed off, looking thoughtful. Peter raised a skeptical brow; he'd heard both Susan and Edmund waxing poetic about the utter incompetence of the Calormene ambassador one too many times to think that Edmund held any complimentary views of the man.

"He's a wretched ambassador, too."

"Well, yes, Susan, he is, but we could do worse, and you know it."

Susan grunted. "Better than a wretched ambassador who's only a slightly less-wretched spy?"

"I know you hate him, but we really could do worse. He could actually love his country, or feel some devotion to the Tisroc. As it is, I'm fairly certain that I can convince him to give us whatever information we need." Edmund shrugged. "He doesn't want to return to Calormen, and he'll do whatever he can to avoid it."

A rather wicked smile crossed Susan's face. "Oh, yes, I can imagine that he would not fair quite so well in Tashbaan these days, after becoming accustomed to the, ah, more _barbaric_ politics of the north."

"Not to mention the fact that he'd have to leave his charming mistress behind. I think he'll be fairly accommodating." Edmund turned towards him suddenly and asked, "Peter?"

He shook his head. "You know how I feel about him. I've no quarrel with the ambassador,"- and, indeed, he was the only one of the three of them who didn't; but then again, he didn't have either Susan or Edmund's rather (unfortunately) extensive history with the man- "but all the same, I'd rather be as little indebted to Calormen as possible."

Edmund snorted softly. Susan gave a sickly sort of smile. "Indeed," she murmured. And it was an 'indeed' moment; this was an argument they'd had so many times that the mere mention of it was exhausting, and it was infuriating to think that it might be rehashed now, when time was of the essence and every second that slipped by was another second that Lucy was alone. And yet…

"But we need what he has to offer," Edmund put in. "We don't have the resources that Calormen has. Besides, at least half the pirates on the Eastern Sea are of Calormene descent. It may be that Tashbaan has a greater hand in this than would be entirely pleasant."

Peter froze. Of all the things for Edmund to suggest… Calormen was treacherous, yes; diplomacy with Tashbaan was akin to charming a cobra, and their diplomatic relations had seldom been worse, what with Lune courting war at every other pass, but the thought of a political kidnapping orchestrated by the Calormene court was… was…

Terrifying.

"Edmund," he began, desperately attempting to gauge the probability of this new and alarming theory, "do you…"

"I don't know, but you have to admit that it would not be… out of character. Just because their cloak-and-dagger politics haven't touched our court so far doesn't mean they won't."

"It is something we must consider," Susan interjected, "though I very seriously doubt," she added under her breath, "that it could have been orchestrated with Nha'il on this end." Peter watched as she went to the window, absentmindedly twisting the signet ring on her finger. "Yet I cannot help but wonder if it is not too soon to be pinning the blame on Calormen; I fear that we may have to look closer to home."

The unspoken word they were all thinking: _treachery_. The specter that haunted every court: _betrayal_.

"And that is why I was so tardy," Edmund broke in, shattering the uncomfortable silence, "and why our friend Darrin is now cursing me with what is, no doubt, great inventiveness on his part."

"You mentioned bribery, blackmail, and threats?"

"Oh, indeed." Edmund sank back into his chair and swung one booted ankle to rest on the other knee. "Aside from enlisting the aid of our most beloved ambassador, I've been pulling on threads to see what appears on the other end, calling in favors and pressing spies. It's too early yet for anything to have come up, but I should have news within the hour."

"News of what, exactly?"

Edmund favored his brother with an exasperated look, though Peter knew the exasperation wasn't aimed at him. "News of this damned pirate, hopefully. But I simply can't be certain." His exasperation slipped into desperation. "I need more time."

But time was exactly what they didn't have, and Edmund knew it as well as Peter did, as well as Susan did. As well as _Lucy_ did.

Susan turned away from her contemplation of the window and leaned against the casement, her brow furrowed. "We'll make do with what we have and, Lion willing, it will be enough."

"It will have to be," Peter said. The words sounded certain as he said them, but his thoughts were racing. What if they couldn't find her? What if it wasn't enough time? What if, what if, what if…


	7. VI: Fealty

_A quicker update! Imagine that! Please, don't forget to thank **Metonomia**, who most kindly offered to serve as my beta; her help truly improved this chapter. As usual, all mistakes are mine, and please enjoy._

_

* * *

_

**VI: Fealty**

He left the Counsel Hall first, with Peter and Susan's blessings. Walking slowly through the still-cool corridor, he paused to glance out one of the western windows. It was just now coming noon, he noted with satisfaction, and that meant he had the better part of an hour to himself before his scheduled- and certain to be absolutely _delightful_- meeting with Nha'il.

Standing at the window with his still-throbbing head, Edmund knew that there were a dozen ways his time could be better spent than what he was currently contemplating. There were plans to be made, counselors to be sought out, ships to be readied, spies to be debriefed… and it all came down to time. Time, of which there was so very little.

Edmund knew this. But he also knew that the quickly dissolving hour between now and the time when he had to go speak with- _threaten, bribe, persuade_, his mind supplied- the Calormene ambassador was precious to him for other reasons. And so he turned from the window and made his swift, certain way down a few lesser-used, smaller hallways, trying with all of his might to avoid anywhere that he would run into anyone at all, be they ambassador, guest, soldier, or servant. He was, Edmund reflected with a wry sort of amusement as he crept into the shadow of a doorway to avoid being seen by a passing guard, not the best of company at the moment.

* * *

"You think he'll be alright?"

"At this point, Peter, are any of us?"

He sighed and drummed his fingers on the table. "You know what I mean."

Susan nodded and allowed herself a small sigh as well. "I do. But we can't worry about that now. Edmund will manage. We have things to do."

* * *

"King Edmund."

Edmund just managed to kill his wince at the sound of Rian's greeting. He _had _thought of his attendants- rather miraculously, actually- and of how to bypass them when he finally reached his apartments, but he'd not expected to stumble upon this one.

"Rian." Edmund waved the Faun's attentions away bluntly and asked, before his mind had quite caught up with his mouth, "And where is Merl?" Merl would have anticipated his actions- after four years, the Satyr knew him well enough to be ready. Rian… Edmund barely knew his newest attendant. _Aslan, why can things never be simple?_

A frown creased Rian's forehead. "Your Majesty, Merl left for Lantern Waste early this morning. I believe he was called home for family matters." The Faun stopped, obviously confused. Edmund wondered why.

And then he remembered. He recalled, vaguely, that, through the splitting headache of this morning, Merl had made a whispered explanation of his absence. It had barely registered at the time, and had been forgotten in the day's other… happenings. But his attendants were used to his remembering the small, seemingly unimportant details.

But he couldn't think of this now. Now, whether or not Merl was here to provide his discreet assistance, he needed this time. He would simply have to hope that he would be lucky another time with his attendant and that Rian, too, would prove to be the soul of discretion.

"Of course. In any case, I have an appointment with the Calormene ambassador this afternoon, before which there is something that I must attend to. Don't disturb me unless I'm not yet finished at a quarter till the hour."

He looked at Rian flatly, praying to Aslan that the Faun wouldn't be foolish enough to question him. Lion's mane, he needed Merl! Fauns had the horrid tendency to be so delicate about Court matters, and so concerned about their sovereigns' well being that they couldn't leave well enough alone, while Merl- being what he was- had long aided and abetted Edmund's natural inclination towards privacy. _So help me Aslan, if he inquires after my health, I shall-_

"Of course, King Edmund."

Rian bowed smoothly and Edmund, ignoring the desire to stare in utter amazement, nodded and slipped into the inner chamber of his apartment, locking the door firmly behind him.

The chamber was quiet and quite empty, thankfully. Someone- Rian, he supposed, since none of his other attendants seemed to be present- had thrown the doors leading to the balcony open in hopes of inviting a sea breeze in to cut the day's heat. The room was cooler because of it, but it was also heavy with the scent of the sea. A small muscle in his jaw jumped.

Calmly, he walked to the doors leading out onto the terrace and stepped outside. The sun was high and hot, and glinted off the calm sea as if off a mirror. A few gulls wheeled lazily over the water. If he shaded his eyes and squinted, he knew he would have been able to make out the ships at the harbor not a mile down the southern coast.

"Damn him," he said quietly, still looking out over the water. He stepped back into inside, shutting the doors with slightly more force than he had intended. "Damn him."

And then all hell broke loose.

He swept an arm across the small stand by the balcony doors, sending his clay water pitcher flying. It landed with a satisfying crash against the wall. He moved on, storming to his desk and grabbing things indiscriminately. Books, scrolls, inkwells; none were spared. And with each breath he whispered, "Damn him, damn him, damn him, damn him."

Edmund had learned long ago exactly what he could and could not do in times like this. Yelling in inarticulate rage was not allowable; that tended to bring guards and servants and siblings running from all corners. Smashing windows, too- besides being obscenely expensive and irritating to repair- was overly conspicuous. After much argument with Merl, however, it had been decided that general destruction was permissible. The Satyr, after the first incident, had simply started keeping the more valued fragile objects in the antechamber. It was a good arrangement, Edmund thought. And it was certainly working now. He hefted an inkwell and sent it flying against the opposite wall, where it shattered and left an indigo stain on the stone.

It was easy- so, so, easy- to release the rage and tension like this, here in the calm solitude of his chambers, where even his brother gave him his privacy in times such as these. Edmund didn't need to talk through his anger; he didn't need to understand; he didn't even need, as Peter did, to act.

He simply needed release.

_Oh, Lucy, Lucy; how could he? How _dare _he? Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. Damn him, damn him, damn him…_

As his last missile smashed against his chamber door with an altogether soul-soothing thump, he spun around in the center of the room, his breathing heavy and his eyes darting about for another target. His hands were shaking. He'd let himself get too built up, he knew. He'd not been this angry in years.

He hardly cared.

There was a small, analytical part in the back of his mind that was whispering for him to _calm down, look at yourself; are you a child_? The rest of his mind was screaming _damn him, damn him, damn him_!

He whirled around once more and, finding nothing, jerked the crown from his head. It was the crown that Aslan had placed on his head at the coronation four years ago, the crown that he wore only for State occasions and on Court days. The silver, though light enough on his head, was heavy in his hands and he knew that it would make quite a din were he to throw it. With barely a thought, he raised his arm, pulled his lips back in a snarl, and…

And then from somewhere even deeper than the cursing and the anger came the simple thought, _Aslan_.

His rage drained away, leaving him enervated. His hands dropped to his sides, the crown smacking against his leg. After a moment of motionless silence, he began groping blindly with the hand that held no crown, until he finally managed to find the back of a chair and sank down into it. There was silence.

Dropping the crown with a leaden _thunk _and burying his face in his hands, he rested elbows on knees and simply sat, breathing. In and out, in and out.

As his breathing steadied, his mind, finally free of the nearly blinding anger that had been steadily growing since he'd first heard of Lucy's capture, began to function properly once more. As he sat regaining his composure, seemingly inconsequential facts and dropped hints began to fly through his head as he attempted to work out some sort of pattern. Peter and Susan, he knew, would handle the _hows_. Now, it was his job to work on the _whys_. Nha'il was the first step; that meeting was soon, too. He suppressed a shudder and returned his focus to breathing.

So. Nha'il first, and hopefully, by the time he'd gotten what he needed from the ambassador, Susan would have spoken with the Mer-folk, and Peter with the harbormaster, and they could begin to understand.

_Or at least_, the not-quite-calm part of him added_, begin to act_. But that rage was subdued now, though the grief and anger were not. Peter would stew and simmer and slowly boil over; Susan would lie in wait before shouting a bit- usually at him- and then be ice; Lucy would rage until the matter was finish; Edmund's temper flashed and then subsided. Normally they could balance one another.

_Nothing is normal now._

But there was no time now for pondering the mysteries of rage- Peter had been absolutely right. They had to make do with the time they were given. Already he began to fear that he'd indulged his temper too much. How long did he have? Rian hadn't disturbed him yet, which meant that he still had time, but it would never do to rush into a meeting with Nha'il.

Suppressing a groan, he rose from the chair and, scooping his crown up with one hand, turned slowly to survey the destruction.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been, he supposed, though that really wasn't saying much. He noted with a wince that the heavy crystal inkwell from the Islands had left a deep scratch in his headboard- _No doubt Merl will have something to say about that_- and that he'd managed to completely demolish his water pitcher. No matter, though- he'd wondered before if it might not be better to perhaps replace it with something a bit sturdier. Now the point was moot. He had managed, however, to avoid staining the carpet, which was a decided improvement over the last time.

A quiet knock disturbed his inspection. "Your Majesty?" Rian's muffled voice was unreadable. "'Tis a quarter till the hour."

And so it was time. _Aslan give me strength_.

Stepping across the quill and parchment and book-strewn floor, he unlocked the door only to be met with a politely blank look from the Faun. The blank look turned to quiet incredulity as he let the door swing open behind him and his attendant gained a look at the destruction within.

Edmund had never wished more for Merl's presence.

"You'll need to get someone to clean this mess up," he said quietly, waving his free hand to encompass the entirety of his chambers. "Discreetly, if you please."

Rian nodded soundlessly.

"Oh," he added as he settled his crown once more upon his head, feeling oddly comforted by its weight, "and you'll need to call upon one of the Cair's carpenters to see to the headboard. We wouldn't want anyone thinking I don't clean up after myself."

There was no answer from the Faun. Edmund sighed to himself, wondering just how long it would take for news of this most recent loss of control to spread throughout the palace. _Just what I need_, he thought grimly. _As if today wasn't bad enough already._ But then, if he hadn't wanted Rian to gossip, he should have sent him away, shouldn't he?

No matter. There were more important things- Nha'il. He brushed past his still-silent attendant and was halfway across the antechamber when he heard:

"Your Majesty."

There was just enough hesitancy in Rian's voice to halt his progress, and he turned slowly, dreading the look he thought to find on the Faun's face. It had to be this day, of all days, that Merl was called home. But instead of fear or disbelief or- the mere thought was enough to make a sneer tug at his lips- scorn, he saw only a vague sort of understanding on Rian's face. "Yes?"

"Your Majesty, if you please, allow me to fetch you a different tunic. There is a small ink stain on yours." Rian followed this statement with a timid but sincere half-bow, and Edmund knew an understanding when he saw one. In such ways were secrets kept, were bonds forged.

"I had not noticed," he said quietly, looking down to finger the small black splotch that had, ever so traitorously, spread across the green linen. "I thank you, Rian. It would not do to arrive at a meeting with our elegant ambassador"- he couldn't help a quick smirk from passing across his face and could have sworn that he saw, just for a moment, a similar look pass over his attendant's- "in such disarray."

"If it please you, King Edmund, I will be but a moment."

"By all means." Rian bowed shortly and was halfway through the door when a rather wicked thought occurred to Edmund. He almost dismissed it out of hand, but then, why not? "Oh, and Rian?"

"Your Majesty?"

"See if you can't find something red."

* * *

Any foreign visitors who had seen Susan slip from the palace followed by her personal guard would have been quite surprised, perhaps even astonished. Some would have wondered at her passing through the pleasant gardens and down to the sea, she knew, but the majority of these would have brushed it off as a young queen going down to the seashore to calm herself, and perhaps to gaze at the pretty water.

These people would be imbeciles.

Susan appeared calm as she made her way down the well-tended paths through the terraced gardens that led to the beach, and in fact she was. Her thoughts were collected, her mind clear. She was perfectly tranquil, save for the fact that she was absolutely prepared to obliterate anyone who attempted to detain her.

At her side, Meera flicked one black ear, obviously aware of her queen's irritation. But of course, she would be. It was, after all, her duty, and she knew that the Leopard had spent enough time with Susan during one of the queen's rages to know the signs and symptoms, covert as they were. In that way, she was almost family.

They moved steadily from the gardens to the well-worn path that led to the beach; Susan paused at the edge of the sand and simply waited, her eyes trained on the line of small breakers moving smoothly in.

After a quiet moment, there came a small sigh. "My Queen, I doubt if Swanwhite ever asked her personal guard to leave her."

Susan bit back a smile before dropping her eyes to meet those of the black Leopard. "I am almost certain, Meera, that Swanwhite's guard was composed of black _Jaguars_,"- Meera loved referencing the famous queen's infamous Guard. "And," she added lightly, "that, if she had asked them to leave her, they would not have questioned her."

"Because they were Jaguars," Meera muttered, her yellow eyes narrowing. Susan merely waited, until… "I shall be among the boulders, My Queen."

Susan nodded briefly in dismissal and Meera slunk away, quickly disappearing into the shadows of the rocks so that not even Susan, who had watched her entire journey, could make her out.

It was an interesting relationship, she thought as she studied the shadows; that of the sovereigns and their personal Guard, and most particularly that of the sovereigns and the big Cats in their respective Guards. Each of them had one- and only one- big Cat assigned to their person. It was an arrangement that had sprung from even before the coronation, when Beryn- at the time already a weathered soldier- had taken to following Lucy around the camp. In time, it had been suggested that each sovereign be assigned a big Cat to serve as a guard when the larger contingents would prove too cumbersome, or when privacy was desired. Beryn alone remained with Lucy's Guard at all times; it would have been difficult for him not to, as he was her Captain. _And Aslan, may he serve her well now._

Susan couldn't imagine having Meera assigned to her at all times. She was too solitary, too territorial; Roern would have been driven spare within a week of having her within the Guard proper. But she did serve as an excellent and discreet guardian, and Susan got along well with her. Certainly, there was the occasional spat between the Cat and the rest of the Guard over ownership of their Queen- which Susan politely pretended not to notice- but then, nothing was perfect. It was a complicated system.

Susan liked it.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts and casting a wry smile- which she knew her guard would see- at the shadows, she slipped her feet from her slippers and set off across the sand.

It burned under her feet until they became so hot they almost seemed to freeze, and it was a blessed relief when she finally stepped into the cooler surf. The wavelets lapped over her feet, washing away the sting of the hot sand and pulling from her a little moan of relief. Ignoring the drenching of her skirts, she waded into the sea until the water reached her thighs. Only then, with her skirts floating absurdly and her legs blessedly cooler, did she pause and wait.

As she scanned the horizon, she let one hand drop and trailed her fingers through the water, wondering once more what the visiting ambassadors and traders would think if they could see her now. She knew she was certainly not, at the moment, presenting herself as they expected her to, as Gentle Queen Susan the Beautiful who was quiet and composed and utterly civil. If they thought of her at all, they probably expected her to be closeted in her rooms, bemoaning the loss of her sister.

The thought made her snort; yet it was also, in a rather perverse way, pleasing.

She had long known that Narnia's greatest weapon- and best-kept national secret- was her sovereigns. Their ages played a great part in the charade- after all, who would suspect that four _children_ could control a country only just beginning to recover from a century of tyranny? - but that was not the only reason that the four of them were consistently misjudged and underestimated. Façades were easy enough to build, if one knew how, and hardly more difficult to maintain in the presence of outsiders. Peter and Lucy hid less, by natural inclination and temperament, but even for them it was rare that anyone saw what they truly were. Every Narnian seemed to know almost instinctively that Susan was more than a pretty face, Edmund more than a fop, Peter more than a soldier, and Lucy more than a little girl, but they had never seemed inclined to share this knowledge with foreigners, and Susan was perfectly happy to keep it that way. It was dead useful and, she didn't hesitate to admit, more than a bit amusing.

Her eyes, still watching the sea, were caught by a flash from the north and she stilled herself, reining in her wandering thoughts for the second time. She frowned, straining to see until… there! A small smile stole over her face as the disturbance that had caught her eye steadily approached.

The Mer-folk who broke the smooth water ten yards from her were blessedly familiar to Susan, and she sent a quick prayer to Aslan before inclining her head to the small contingent. She noted that Sapene was a part of the delegation, as were two other Messengers, Sora and Harane. Susan knew both Mermaids, though it was far less common to see them near the Cair than it was to see the younger Messengers such as Sapene. In fact, she thought suddenly, stifling a pensive frown, Harane at least she knew to be a part of the Vaida's personal train, and it would not surprise her in the least to learn that Sora had also been inducted into that elite group.

And if Harane and Sora were here, it was not unlikely that-

A fourth Mermaid broke the now-still water and Susan's smile grew wider, though colder. Only twice before in the four years since her coronation had she met with the Vaida of the far Western Mer-clan, and never before had such a meeting been unannounced. It was a thing entirely without precedent, she suspected, and that meant that she was about to gain the help that she required.

The Vaida's face was set as she flicked her fingers over her forehead and then outward in the Mer-folk's gesture of respect and welcome. "Susan, Queen of Narnia."

Susan returned the gesture with a perfection gained from long practice. "Vaida Ashahn."

"My heart delights at meeting you once more, Queen of Narnia, yet I sorrow for your troubles. The sea has spoken of nothing else since the news reached our waters." Ashasn's eyes searched Susan's face. "I make a promise to you to provide whatever assistance Narnia requires to find and free Queen Lucy of Narnia."

_Beautifully played, Ashahn. If only I had half a dozen like you…_ And she had to admire the Vaida's tact. Ashahn was, Susan had gathered over the years, considered to be a rather provocative Vaida, mostly because of the oath of fealty she had sworn to Susan and her siblings at their coronation. It was an unusual thing for a Mer-folk clan to swear fealty to anyone, but particularly to an outsider; yet for all of this Ashahn had managed to retain her clan's independence, and Susan generally regarded their political relationship as more of an alliance than any sort of lordship. It was at times such as this that she remembered why.

"I speak with the voice of Narnia when I say that you have our gratitude, Vaida." Susan paused and then, deciding that there had been enough overt political pretense already this day, pressed her hand against her heart. "And I speak with my own voice when I say, Ashahn, that there is nothing in this world that I would not give to have my sister returned to me."

_Make of that what you will, Ashahn. I need your people completely in this._

Ashahn's black eyes were carefully blank, and Susan could only hope that she had not made a mistake when she had dropped the safety of diplomatic routine. But she needed the Vaida's complete backing in this venture; not only in politics but also in intent. She needed the Vaida, yes; but she also needed all of Ashahn's folk.

Ashahn turned her head suddenly and barked, "Sapene, Harane, Sora; leave us." The command in her voice killed any protests her followers would have had immediately and the three Mermaids dove and disappeared. She turned back to face Susan, an unreadable look on her face. When she finally did speak, it had seemingly nothing to do with the matter at hand and, had Susan not been Susan, she would have chaffed at the apparent waste of time.

"I have not yet thanked you, Susan Queen, for doing us the honor of meeting us here, in our own territory." She raised one hand to gesture towards Susan's soaked gown. "It is a kindness that you did not have to show."

"It is of little inconvenience to me, and prevents what I believe to be a great discomfort on the part of you and your people."

Ashahn laughed then, and in doing so she looked less Human that Susan had ever seen one of the Mer-folk appear. "Yet is a gesture that none but you and your siblings have ever extended to my people."

_Ah_, Susan thought_, and Darrin wonders why the Mer-folk do not ally themselves with Archenland_. Aloud, she only said, "Your clan is not subject to my authority as the other beings of Narnia are, yet you deserve no less courtesy. I would do as much for any of my allies."

Ashahn swam closer, closing the distance between them until they were less than an arm's length apart. "And that is what makes you a Queen. I tell you truthfully, I bless the day that Aslan placed you and your family on the thrones of Cair Paravel." Susan bit back her surprise; in her earlier meetings with the Vaida, they had spoken of business and politics. Personal likes and dislikes were strictly Lucy's area. Ashahn seemed to understand her silence, and continued in a gentler tone, "I have said this to Queen Lucy of Narnia, but never to you. Your strength becomes you, Susan Queen, and I, too, desire the return of your Valiant sister."

"You will aid us, then?"

"Have I not already given my pledge?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "A pledge that your clan understands, Ashahn, and that Narnians understand, but one that I fear those Mer-folk not familiar with Narnia will interpret as little more than your honor's fulfillment of a vow of fealty that you, perhaps, did not entirely support." Susan paused, considering how best to go about this. Darrin said that the Mer-folk did not ally themselves with anyone save for Narnia; that was not true, really. Ashahn's clan may have allied itself with the Narnian throne, but there had not yet been any such offers- or even contact - from any of the Eastern Sea's many other clans. And these other clans, Susan suspected, did not like the fact that one of their number was sworn to not one but four Human sovereigns.

"You fear that my sisters will not support your search; even that they may hinder it."

The thought was painful; if the Mer-folk of the Eastern Sea refused to help, Susan knew that Lucy was lost. "Yes," she replied quietly, forcing herself to meet Ashahn's gaze, "I fear that."

"Four years ago, I would have said to you that such a fear was well-grounded. Four years ago… do you know, Susan Queen, why it is that I bound my clan to you in fealty?"

It was almost enough to make Susan snap, this habit Ashahn had of veering from the subject at hand, but Susan would not have been Susan had she not had such self-restraint, even in such times. Even when her sister was missing. "Lucy has told me. She says that Aslan spoke to you."

"Oh, he did," Ashahn said, and there was something very close to Edmund's irony in her voice. "When you and your siblings were crowned, Susan Queen, I would have had my tail removed before swearing anything to any one of you. I have seen what Men and the children of Men do," she added, noting Susan's look, "and I wanted no part of it. The Winter was not easy for my people, either. I wanted nothing to do with _any_ ruler of Narnia."

Susan was startled, though she tried not to show it. This was a story that she had never heard; she had always wondered what, exactly, had driven Ashahn to make so drastic a move as to swear fealty. Lucy had heard of Aslan's involvement and been appeased. Susan, however, was not so certain. "What was it that changed your mind, Vaida Ashahn?"

"Aslan." The word was almost… _exasperated_. "He began to appear in my dreams; night after night he came to me, speaking of the four of you. He was very… persistent."

"Yes, so I have noticed," Susan murmured.

Ashahn regarded her with amusement. "I am quite certain that you have, Susan Queen." They shared a look of long-suffering understanding.

"He convinced you, then?"

"Oh, Lion, no." Susan raised her brows politely; Ashahn continued. "By this point, I would have fled to foreign waters and directed my prayers to Tash if only such a thing would make Aslan leave me in peace. But then… then Queen Lucy of Narnia came."

Lucy. Of course. All of Narnia's initial progress- and much of its later progress as well- was due to her. Where would Narnia be without her, Susan had to wonder. Where was she now, without them?

"Queen Lucy of Narnia came to the shore one morning and spoke with one of my people; I watched from a distance, unwilling to let any Human be alone with a member of my clan." Ashahn locked eyes with Susan and said, quietly and forcefully, "You must understand, Susan Queen, that I had good reason to fear for my folk. Jadis the Witch tried for many years to ensnare us, claiming that peace and safety would come to us if only we would swear our loyalty. I had no reason to think that your family would offer anything but the slavery and death that the Witch had sown."

She was angered by the comparison, but not for long. No, Susan thought, Ashahn's clan could not have, in all honesty, expected anything different from her family. She opened her mouth to speak, and then sighed; that they were still finding the damage, even four years later, of Jadis' reign was disheartening. _If only Lucy were here…_ Lucy knew, better than any of them, how to erase the bitterness that Jadis had left in her wake.

"So why, Ashahn, did you trust us?"

"Because of the way that Queen Lucy of Narnia waded into the water that day to speak with a lowly Mer-lass; because of how the High King and King Edmund of Narnia were respectful to the lone emissary I sent in those first weeks. Because of the way, Susan Queen, that you silenced the Faun who muttered that the Mer-folk were not to be trusted. I saw the Lion in the four of you brighter than I have seen him in any of my own people."

Susan was silent.

"And so that is why Narnia has my clan's fealty, Susan Queen, and why I have spread word of the Lion's light in Narnia's four rulers even to my sisters in the far East, where the water is clear as crystal and warm as sunlight. They may not have spoken, but most of my sisters do not condemn your rule." Ashahn's voice grew cold. "There are some, of course, who cry trickery and deceit, but they are fools and cowards, and their words will matter little when they see that the Helah supports you."

Oh, Aslan, if only she could be certain! She could only do so much, and so much rested on things outside of her control. "Your people love my sister, Ashahn,"- but it was hard, Aslan!, so hard to relinquish what little control she had- "and I trust in your word that your sisters throughout the Sea will, if not aid us, then at least not hinder us. For Lucy's sake."

The Mermaid regarded her silently; Susan prayed that she had not misspoken. To blunder now would be… She pressed one palm against her forehead and closed her eyes.

It was Ashahn's hands, wet and yet warm, foreign yet familiar, closing around her own trailing hand that forced her eyes open. She nearly started in surprise, yet stopped herself just in time to avoid pulling away. Susan froze, not wishing to give offense.

"So much strength, Susan Queen. My clan loves Queen Lucy of Narnia; it is true. Yet do not think that we take up this search only for love of her, for we love you as well, Queen of Narnia." The grip around her hand tightened in a momentary display of support. "Rest, at least, your fears that my people will not aid you, for they will. There will not be a single one of the Mer-folk in the Eastern Sea that will not assist in our search; I swear it."

* * *

"So, say a day's journey from Terebinthia, Majesty."

Peter pulled his eyes back from the dazzling horizon. "So I have been told."

Burk twitched his lips and drummed his fingers absentmindedly against the ship's railing. "Damned idiot; making it a three-days' journey for that pretty little ship. Could have done it in two, two and a half, with her speed."

He glared down at his harbormaster, willing the man either to look at him or to simply move on without his meandering digressions. He knew Burk- and liked him well enough, on an average day- but he was ready, at this point, to exile him to some far, cold region of the world. Though perhaps a cold place would be too merciful; any relief from this heat…

"Burk."

"King Peter?"

"We were discussing a plan of action?" The man nodded amiably. Peter could feel his jaw clench of its own volition. "Because as fascinating as I find your analysis of Captain Morden's mistakes, there really are more important things at hand."

Burk's weathered features sobered immediately and he turned to meet Peter's glare with a bow. "I apologize, King Peter. Habits of an old man. My father used to tell me that the best captain was always the one sitting in the harbor, after the fact. Never thought I'd prove him right, the old bastard."

"Burk."

The gray head ducked in another meaningless apology. "So we've no idea where this ship is headed."

And Peter suddenly couldn't handle it anymore. "Do you honestly think," he snarled, dropping one hand on Burk's shoulder and forcing the man to face him, "that I would be standing here, apparently wasting my time- my _sister's time_- with you if I had the vaguest idea of where that bastard had taken her?" He wanted to shake Burk, to make him understand the driving need to do something, anything… _Calm, Peter. It's not his fault._

And the answering snarl, _the hell it's not._

It was to Burk's everlasting credit that, rather than quaver as most would have done under the weight of Peter's anger, he simply said, albeit in a rather quiet voice, "No, your Majesty."

Peter dropped his hand suddenly and turned away. He wanted to storm and shout and _Lucy, Lucy, Lucy, I will find you_…

"You should take the _Boreas_, King Peter."

Decisions. Progress. Action. _Finally_. "The _Boreas_?"

Burk smiled and ran one hand along the railing like a mother stroking her newborn. "This ship. Newest galleon in the fleet. She'll sail smooth as maiden's kiss, and fast as the wind can take her."

"As fast as the _Euthymia_?" Peter dreaded the answer; he already knew what it would be.

"Nothing we have is as fast as the _Euthymia_, King Peter."

"Then what good-" he broke off what would have been the beginning of a bitter tirade that he knew would, like this damned ship, do no one any good. Least of all Lucy. She _would_ have to be on Narnia's fastest ship.

"King Peter, if I may?"

Peter spun, startled at the intrusion. A boy- _not so much of a boy; probably older than Edmund_, his mind supplied helpfully- stood timidly at the base of the main mast, looking as though he now wished he'd kept his mouth firmly shut. He didn't look in the least familiar.

"Aren?" Burk said, surprised.

_Aren_, Peter thought, _good, I'm not supposed to know him_. "Who is this?"

"King Peter, he's my cousin's lad, off the Lone Islands. His father's a trader, and his mother sent him to me a month ago, to keep him off the seas. I-" Peter raised a hand for silence, and got it.

"You have something to say?"

If possible, the boy wilted even more. "Y-yes, King Peter. It's just that…" he broke off and shot a panicked look in Burk's direction.

"Yes?" Peter prompted, feeling his irritation mounting. Between his damned harbormaster and the heat and the boy's hesitancy and the fact that Lucy was missing and he could do nothing…

"King Peter, it's just that there aren't many pirates who sail caravels and the navies know the ones that do and so the _Boreas_ should be able to catch anything the pirate is sailing because she really is a very fast ship, King Peter."

All of this spilled from Aren's mouth so quickly that Peter felt himself lucky to catch his name at both ends. He took a calming breath and latched onto the one word that he had caught in all that mess. "The _Euthymia_ is a caravel."

"Yes, your Majesty. And a fast one, too." Aren had moved, ever so cautiously, forward from his position at the base of the mast and was now standing at Burk's side. "They cleaned her lines up, you see, so she'd sail faster, and she's so small that-"

"That ship was built to be the fastest in our fleet."

"Oh, certainly, King Peter."

"And is there any reason that Calormen or Archenland would have any ships faster than the _Euthymia_?" There really shouldn't be, not if his shipbuilders were honest. Narnia's navy was small; Darrin, damn him, was right in that regard. But the navy was new, too, which meant that all of its ships were beautiful, safe… _swift_.

Burk snorted and said, with a most proprietary tone, "Certainly not. Our navy is small, but she's the fastest on the seas. I've made certain of that."

Good. _Good_. Now he needed Sapene again… why was it that Mer-folk could speak for hours on end of the currents and the moods of the sea but could never be bothered to tell one type of ship from another? And that was information he needed, and needed quickly. "Burk, prepare the ship."

"The _Boreas_, King Peter?"

"I want her ready to sail at first light. Who is her captain?"

"Ah. Yes. Her captain." Peter looked sharply at the harbormaster, startled by the hesitancy in his tone. To his surprise, the old sailor seemed greatly discomfited.

"Is there a problem, Burk?"

"Well, you see, King Peter…" Burk paused and ran a hand through his gray hair. "The _Boreas_' captain is… is…"

"Young? Unskilled? Unintelligent? A spy? Dead? What, Burk?"

"_Her-captain-is-a-Dryad_, King Peter."

The answer- spoken so quickly that Burk obviously thought it would be less painful if it was only one word- stopped Peter short. _This man is going to drive me spare_, he thought, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "Is that a problem?"

"Well, well, no." Peter could almost see Burk backpedaling… furiously. "But it is damned unusual. Don't get many Dryads on the ships; most don't like to be away from their trees for too long, you see."

Men. Peter repressed a grunt of irritation. All Humans, really, and their silly preconceptions. It was such a nuisance, having to acclimate the sailors and nautical experts that Narnia had imported to Narnia herself. Things sometimes got out of hand, and even the men who had lived here for some time always retained a lingering sense of peculiarity about Narnian ways. But there was nothing to be done about it now. "Such a thing is obviously not a bother to- who is the captain?"

Burk sighed. "Fiomena, your Majesty."

_Fiomena_? She was… Peter scowled, wondering how it was that, despite being rather intimately involved in the birth and subsequent growth of his navy, there were so many people in it that he'd never met. But no matter. The only thing that mattered now was… "Can she sail?"

"Like a demon of Tash, if your Majesty will pardon the expression. If I'd not seen it myself, I wouldn't believe that a woman who comes out of a tree could sail like that. A very bird on a breeze, she seems." He paused a moment, snuck a look at Peter, and then added, " 'tis not natural."

Peter ignored the last comment and concentrated on the words he prayed would save him: _A very bird on the breeze._

_By Aslan, she had best be, because I'm going to need her._

So that was settled, then. He had a ship, he had a captain- now he needed a route and a plan and the knowledge of whom he was going to hunt down and destroy. But those would come in their time. "Find her. Send her to me."

"Yes, King Peter."

And if he was going to have his ship's captain, he was going to have… "And make sure that someone sends word to the Messenger Sapene; I wish to speak with her again as well."

Burk bowed. Peter ignored him.

"And prepare the _Boreas_. First light, I said."

"Of course."

_Hold on, Lucy. I'm coming. We're coming._


	8. VII: Revelations

_Here we are again, after a long absence. I can only apologize, give my deepest thanks again to **Metonomia** for all of her help, and hope that you enjoy._

_

* * *

_

**VII: Revelations**

"I was most disconsolate to learn of Narnia's misfortune, and you have my assurance, o most noble King, that the Tisroc (may he live forever), offers his sympathies as well."

The afternoon sun streamed in through the western windows; Edmund wondered if he shouldn't have perhaps chosen a room where he could see the sea. It was distracting, certainly, but no less so for its absence. Out of sight, it festered, leading his mind to constantly turn upon itself, seeking answers to problems he lacked the ability to solve. Problems of whereabouts and identities and motives. Problems that the Calormene ambassador, standing in polite attention before Edmund's seat, was going to help him unravel.

"You are as courteous as ever, Lord Nha'il," he answered calmly, wrenching his eyes from the window and turning them to the ambassador. He had failed to offer Nha'il a chair- how very uncharacteristically rude of him. And Nha'il had certainly noted the lack of courtesy. Good. With any luck- not that there had been a recent surfeit of _that_, Edmund noted- the ambassador was worrying over this new attitude of Narnia's younger king. With any luck, he was wondering why the Narnian king- ever informally polite with foreign ambassadors, ever _disinterested_- was taking such a formal route. Worrying and, with luck, being unable to solve the riddle. "Narnia accepts your kind sentiments and expresses her thanks for your words of… comfort." The words were bland and apparently harmless; Nha'il caught the meaning behind them and winced.

"Most noble King," he began again, clasping his hands behind his back, "the Tisroc, may he live forever, of course offers whatever assistance he may, for the troubles of great Calormen's allies are as her own-"

"Yes, Nha'il, I'm certain they are."

The unusual manner with which he was being treated was obviously getting to Nha'il. Poor man; Edmund almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But really, it was far too easy to throw him off guard. Being raised and trained in the Calormene courts had made him a bit too particular for his own good. In Calormen, for instance, Edmund knew that Nha'il's body slaves would never have let him dress in the beautiful scarlet silks that so obviously clashed with Edmund's own crimson tabard. The incongruity was killing the ambassador. If he watched carefully, he could see Nha'il's eyes flit from his own robes, to Edmund's clothes, and then back to his own before blinking as if in pain.

It was a most exquisite form of torture.

"Your Majesty?"

The polite hesitancy in the words was exactly what Edmund was looking for. Forcing himself to relax- _and for Lion's sake, at least try and enjoy this: it's not every day Peter and Susan let you browbeat an ambassador_- he straightened in his chair, to the quite obvious discomfort of the Calormene ambassador. So easy to disconcert him, Edmund thought. Terribly, terribly easy; he wondered if the Tisroc was ever unhappy with the fact that he'd sent what had to be his most useless nephew to the Narnian court. It might have been a clever move- it was insulting, certainly- had Narnia's sovereigns been as incompetent and as naïve as the Tisroc had obviously believed them to be. As it was, Susan had expressed her surprise that Nha'il hadn't been recalled to Tashbaan yet; Edmund thought he rather might be, and soon. "In truth, Lord Nha'il, I find myself surprised that Calormen, with her great marine power, has not yet dealt with such a nuisance."

Nha'il frowned, raised one hand to anxiously stroke his oiled beard, and, upon realizing it, lowered it immediately. "The pirates," he began, "have always troubled the Bight of Calormen, o noble King, and, though the Tisroc, may he live forever, possesses vast and powerful navies, he cannot be concerned with the destruction of every-"

"But we're not discussing every pirate on the Eastern Sea, my lord." The furrows in Nha'il's brow deepened; Edmund could have sung. The ambassador was firmly his now. Susan may not have liked working with the man- Lion's mane, neither did he, when it came down to it- but Edmund was terribly appreciative of how hugely expressive Nha'il's face was. So expressive, in fact, that he could see every bit of the confusion, the doubt, and the interest that the man was hoping to hide. "In fact, we're only discussing the _Thanatos_, aren't we?"

In four years, Edmund had learned to read people, even when they desired not to be read. He was skillful at it; indeed, his entire family was in one way or another. Edmund could see lies, and he could see truth. It was a helpful skill, and one he used often.

He didn't need it now.

The effect of the word _'Thanatos'_ on Nha'il was almost magical. The color drained from his face, leaving him so pale as to be slightly green; his hands stilled; his eyes widened. It was, Edmund thought in honest surprise, like looking at a man who had just seen his own death stroll casually over the threshold.

"The- the _Thanatos_, o noble King? You are certain of this?"

"Oh, yes, Nha'il," Edmund said slowly, not wanting to startle the ambassador, "If there is anything I am entirely certain of, it is this."

Nha'il shook his head and then- wonder of wonders- turned his back on the king. Edmund was startled. This was it, then, this was important, because anything that could make a man trained in Tashbaan's court turn his back on a reigning sovereign- even a foreign, barbaric one- was something that Edmund needed to know.

"Esma'il," the ambassador whispered to himself, sounding thoroughly alarmed.

_Esma'il?_ Edmund was not familiar with the name, but it was Calormene, and it was a starting place. And, judging by Nha'il's state, it wouldn't take much more of a push to convince him to share his knowledge. It may be that Edmund wouldn't even have to bring the mistress into the equation…

"Nha'il."

The ambassador turned suddenly. "O noble King, forgive me, but Esma'il cannot be- that is, the _Thanatos_- it is entirely impossible." He was so desperate, so discomfited, that Edmund was swiftly becoming alarmed.

"I assure you, Lord Nha'il, it is not."

"But- o great King, you are certain?"

"Entirely."

"O noble King, I… I must send word to Tashbaan."

And it was then- and only then- that Edmund smiled, but bitterly. _Check, _he thought,_ and mate. I have you._ "Of course you must." Nha'il bowed jerkily and turned to flee, but Edmund's next words stopped him in mid-step. "Right after you tell me everything- down to the last letter, Nha'il- that you are going to send to the beloved Tisroc."

* * *

She found him out on the wide terrace that ringed the throne room, huddling against one warm sandstone wall. He had his arms wrapped around his legs, his chin on one knee, and his gaze locked on the darkening east; she hadn't seen him look so young in years. There was a fragility about him that saddened her, though she had a sneaking suspicion that she might have an aura of it herself. In such a state, it almost surprised her to find him in so public and easily accessible a place, but then again, she supposed that the three of them had been given very wide berths since the news had percolated down through the palace residents, a fact for which she was very thankful.

"Meera," she murmured, and the Jaguar withdrew with little more than a glance at the other sovereign. Edmund's wellbeing, though important to every Narnian, was not her special concern, nor was it the Guard's place to intrude on his privacy. That was a privilege Susan retained for herself.

She stood for a moment in an archway, just watching him, wondering if she looked half so exhausted, half so fragile. "There you are," she finally said.

"Susan," he replied without looking at her. She waited. He gave a deep sigh and then turned his head to stare at her. The fragility disappeared as he did so, replaced with an endurance that both calmed and dismayed her. It was something they were all going to have to do, she knew; be stronger than they could bear to be. Already it had begun.

A small smile flitted across his face, and she saw him taking in her state of general disarray. "I take it you spoke with the Vaida, then."

It was as close, she knew, as Edmund would get, in this state, to giving her an invitation. Heedless of her filthy, sand-encrusted skirts and the total lack of royalty she was displaying, she went over and sank down at his side, folding her knees beneath her and leaning her own back against the Cair's warmth. "I did, yes. And you've spoken with Nha'il."

Edmund snorted. "Something like to that. But Peter will be here soon, and then we can speak of what we have learned. Until then…" he trailed off and turned his gaze back to the west. She said nothing.

They sat and waited together; Susan knew better than to try and prompt Edmund when he was like this. It wasn't sulking- not really- but more that he was stuck so deeply within his own mind that conversing was difficult. So she simply waited, watching the sky and sea darken as night fell and thinking.

Peter would want to act immediately, and to be truthful, so did she. What she had told Ashahn was the truth: there was nothing she would not do to get Lucy back, no risks she would not take, no sacrifices she would not make. But there was Narnia to consider as well. Queen and sister- two roles that she had to balance. If it came down to choosing one, she didn't know what she would do. It was a bleak thought, but one that might well manifest itself as reality. If Lucy's captor were to demand Narnia in exchange for her sister's safety…

"We are in trouble," Edmund said quietly. It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

With a heavy sigh, he leaned his head back until it rested against the wall, as if bracing himself. Maybe, Susan thought, he was. "She is the best of us, Susan. Lucy is the best of us."

"I know." And she did know; it was true, so terribly, terribly true. She had no idea where any of them would be were it not for Lucy and all that she was, with her almost unbelievable brightness and seemingly unshakable faith- faith in Aslan, in Narnia, in her brothers and sisters. It was partially Lucy's faith in them, Susan knew, that had allowed the rest of her family to believe themselves into being. And without her, Susan felt lost, adrift.

She hated it.

It was something that all of them felt, in one way or another- this sensation of crushing loss. Peter regarded Lucy as his collaborator, Susan knew. They were two of a kind- bright and free and, she thought, good. Peter needed Lucy to help him counter Susan and Edmund.

Her younger brother's relationship with Lucy was far different; to Edmund, Lucy was an anchor, someone to pull him back when he went too far, perhaps. Someone to trust intrinsically in him. It was not something that Susan completely understood, though she understood enough to know that it was best not to delve too deep.

For Susan, Lucy was an opposite, and it was Lucy who allowed Susan to do what she did, to be what she was, because she knew that, no matter how far she went or how deceptive a web she wove to protect her country, Lucy would always be there to know who and what she was. They all needed Lucy, needed her desperately. Aslan, they were in trouble.

She turned her head to look at her brother, only to discover that he was already staring at her. The look in his eyes, she was certain, matched hers perfectly; she wasn't surprised. Of the four of them, she and Edmund were the most alike… and yet the most different. They tended to think in the same nearly impossible to follow leaps and bounds and were both naturally private; they shared the habits of watching people and of waiting, of quiet words and of bold decisions. But for all of these similarities, they were different in more important ways than they were alike. Edmund was impulsive where she was cautious; often he trusted when she never would have. He risked himself, as Lucy and Peter did, in ways that she would rather have avoided, and opened himself to hurts that made her wince. He was far less likely to bridle his devastating wit, though he, like her, accepted false assumptions that were popularly held with amusement. His temper flared where hers was dangerously steady.

Watching them fight, Peter had often told her, was like watching what happened when an irresistible force met an immovable object.

And now, no doubt, they were sharing the same fear of what if… what if they were forced to make the choice between…

"This is going to get very ugly."

"Oh, do you think so, Edmund?" Her temper remained steady, that is, until he managed, as always, to unbalance it. One of his many talents.

She was favored with one of Edmund's rare- but always so effective- flat looks. "Please, Susan. Look at us. And Peter… I don't like to imagine what he's thinking right now."

Edmund, Susan had to concede, had a viable point. Lucy was her sister, too, and she needed her and feared for her, but Peter was the eldest; Peter was the protector. Peter went into paroxysms of guilt and desperate action if any of his three younger siblings cut themselves while perusing the library in his presence, for Lion's sake. And that this was _Lucy_, and that she had been _taken_ from them… Her thoughts flew to those first horrible days, when Edmund had gone, when he had left them, and then been held; Peter's anger had been more fear and guilt and rage than anything. And Peter was not a boy any longer- he was strong, and he was a king, and he had the power to match. She was almost afraid of what he might do.

"It's not the same thing," Edmund said suddenly. Susan started.

"What?"

"This." He paused and rested his chin on his knee again, determinedly not looking at her. And she knew, because they were so alike, and of course he would be thinking about the last time one of them had been taken… or, rather, say, had been gone. "It's not the same thing, but I'm worried that that's what Peter's thinking of. He doesn't need to be dwelling on that now."

"He's worried that's what you're thinking of, you know." Edmund snorted. "And the pair of you are so damn protective of each other that you won't stop protecting each other longer enough to say that it's not what the other thinks."

There was a long pause after that, and Susan felt her checks color slightly. It didn't really matter; she doubted that the blush was visible in the oncoming dusk, not that Edmund would have cared. He graced her with a turn of his head and a slightly incredulous look.

"That was quite… ineloquent." And then he was up, in one smooth motion, stretching his arms and shaking his head as he moved to stand before her. "In any case, Peter and I can talk later. Tash take it all, we can be worried old hens together later, when this is over. But for now-" he turned from her to look off to the sea- "there are other things to be done."

_Other things to be done…_ of course there were other things to be done. Finding and rescuing and punishing- oh, yes, she wanted that, very badly- and knowing that Lucy was safe. Other things to be done, indeed. And it would take time, and pain, and power, and loss to do them. Other things, indeed. The thought made some deeply cynical part of her snort, and that snort turned into…

Her lips opened unwillingly, and the laugh leapt out, astounding the silence of the terrace and the swiftly falling night. Edmund stared, as well he should. "What?"

"It's just…" she placed one hand over her mouth. _Aslan, give me strength. And sanity._ A breath. Calm. "I cannot help but wonder just how many times we will say that before this ordeal is finished." Looking out past him, out to where the horizon was so dark that sea and sky were of nearly the same obscure shade, she thought back to that small glimpse of fragility and added, "It is looking to be a great number of times."

Her words were greeted with another of Edmund's most spectacularly stony silences and Susan had almost begun to wonder if she'd misspoken when he sighed. "You're right, of course." In the fading light, the look he gave her was indiscernible.

"Your Majesties."

Edmund frowned at the intrusion. Susan did not so much as turn her head. "Yes, Meera?"

"There is a messenger, Queen Susan."

"That'll be Peter," Edmund muttered, and bent to offer Susan his hand. It was reassuring that he still remembered such courtesies, she thought. You could tell that the situation had spiraled completely out of control when Edmund or Peter forgot their courtesies. She took his hand and let him help her to her feet, showering sand as she went.

"Yes." Brushing her skirts and checking her crown- more out of habit than anything- Susan turned to her Guard. "Meera, the messenger, if you please."

"My Queen."

And with that, the Leopard melted back into the shadows, leaving the way clear for Peter's messenger to approach.

"Queen Susan, King Edmund."

"Ah," Edmund said. "Hello, Jis."

The Marten gave her rather predatory smile and inclined her head. "As Meera may have managed to inform you"- and, from the shadows, came the barest hint of a snarl, at which Jis' smile deepened into a smirk- "I bear a message from the High King."

"Stop baiting my sister's Guard, Jis. We've not time for that now. Do what you were sent here to do."

The smirk faded. "Of course, King Edmund. I bear a message from the High King, requesting your Majesties' presences at the shore pavilion with all due haste."

"We've begun, then," Edmund said quietly, and then fell silent.

Susan understood. This council- for it could be nothing other than that- would be the pooling of the sum of their resources, their scrambling and plotting and desperately hoping to discover something that would lead them to their sister. "Is that it, Jis?"

"It is, Queen Susan."

"Very well. We thank you for your service."

The Marten acknowledged her dismissal with one last inclination of her head and a smirk in the direction of Meera's dusky corner before abandoning the dark of the terrace for the well-lit interior of the palace. As soon as the sound of Jis' claws on the marble faded, Meera appeared from the shadows to stand beside her Queen.

"Shall we, then?"

"I suppose we shall," Edmund answered.

"And…" Susan frowned suddenly, her eyes narrowing, "where, may I ask, is your Guard?"

"Oh." He waved a hand in a gesture of general dismissal. "He's… around."

She felt a sudden flush of anger. Edmund was wont to leave his Guard- whether single or group- behind, but this was different. Considering what they knew now… "We've all agreed, Edmund, that it's better to keep a Guard."

"I'm hardly in danger in my own palace, Susan."

"And Lucy was hardly in danger on her own ship, was she?" she hissed, feeling the anger in her stomach thrash. He had no right to say such things, to be so reckless, not now… "Edmund, there is an enemy among us." It hadn't been proven, but he didn't dispute the fact. They both knew it to be true, in some form or another. There was no other way that Lucy- that... there was more than blind ill chance in this, and they were both well aware of that fact. "The wolves are inside the walls. So keep. A damn. Guard."

The silence that fell between them was tense, and for a moment Susan feared that her brother might fight her on this. But then he sighed, and offered her his hand again, saying only, "To Peter's council, then. And perhaps we shall find my Guard on the way."


	9. VIII: Telling Tales

_Updates are sporadic; such it life. Again, many thanks to the lovely and talented _**Metonomia**_, without whom the grammar would be completely lost and the ideas much less sounded. I own nothing, but hope you enjoy nonetheless.

* * *

_

**VIII: Telling Tales**

It was hot in her prison of a cabin, Lucy realized. How could she not have noticed it before? There was a small porthole, but that was more for the purposes of light than for ventilation. Without a ready path along which to flow, the air had grown heavy, no doubt aided by her earlier tantrum. But the heat was just now reaching her and despite her light linen, it was quickly becoming insufferable. She hoped Sken would return soon, with or without Esma'il, if only so that she would get a small draft of fresher air.

Esma'il, however, had apparently decided to make her wait to see whether or not he would cater to her. _How very like him_, she thought with a private grimace. _And, Lion, it is so very hot._ She lifted her hair, which she had fought and forced into a semblance of a braid earlier, off of her neck and shuffled back along the bed so that she could lean against the wall.

The heat reminded her of her first visit to Calormen two summers ago. The desert had been so vast, she remembered; almost like a sea, with its wavelike sand dunes and the sky stretching off in all directions…

* * *

"You _demanded_ to see me, little queen?"

Lucy snapped awake, startled as much by the question as by the sudden influx of cooler air. She shook herself, at once regretting the loss of such peaceful sleep, furious that she had fallen asleep, and desperate to understand the new circumstances under which she would be laboring. And the fact that she had been caught napping put her at a great disadvantage, she knew.

"Excuse me?" she asked faintly, trying to bring the situation back under some semblance of control. She managed to force herself into a more dignified position and blinked the bleariness from her eyes, only to discover that both the voice and the blessedly cooler air had, as she'd feared, announced Esma'il's entrance. He stood in the open doorway, lantern in hand. A quick glance at her small porthole showed that it was much later than when she had last been awake. Her stomach clenched. How long had he been standing there? How long had he- But, no, that fear was unjustified. She would have known had he entered the cabin earlier.

All the same, she loathed that he had seen her asleep, had seen her so vulnerable. He would surely use it against her. And, as if to prove her point, he began to laugh. "Oh, little queen, you do amuse me. You demand to see me and then don't even bother to keep yourself awake for my arrival. My humble ship must seem such a boring place for you, after the glitter and excitement of the, ah," -he paused and gave her a thin smile- "_glorious_ Narnian court."

Esma'il's voice was smooth, amused, and it made her control falter. He had so much power in himself- _and why?_, a little voice asked. _Why does he hold such power? You hold as much yourself. You are sister to the High King and the Gentle and the Just. You are the Valiant. You are Aslan's chosen queen. His lioness._

Aslan's lioness she must be, then.

She straightened, forcing her hands, which had clenched upon Esma'il's mocking, to relax, and replied to his original question. "Yes; I did demand." He laughed again and leaned rather carelessly against the doorframe, watching her with open amusement and, she thought, scorn, though it was difficult to tell in the dim light. She had to wonder if he realized that their positions were those traditionally reserved for sovereign and supplicant… and concluded almost immediately that he had not, else he would have forced her to stand. The idea that he was not in control was one that he loathed. "It is my right as captive to speak with my captor, and my right as queen to make such requests as I have need of."

"You have no rights here, little queen."

"Then indulge me," Lucy countered quickly. If he wouldn't play by diplomatic rules- well, he very obviously _wasn't_ going to do that- then perhaps he would prefer that she give in to him. Just as far as she needed. It was galling- Aslan, how galling! But it needed to be done. It wouldn't do to push him. But she could play this game with him- for a while, at least- if it would get her what she needed.

And perhaps it would. She noted that his scorn changed to pleasure when she asked for his indulgence. He called her a girl- let him think of her as one, then. That suited her just as well. Little girls weren't dangerous. Little girls got the things they wanted. "And what is it, little queen, that I should indulge you in? Another meal, perhaps, since you seem to have been unable to stomach-" he gestured to where the remains of her morning meal still lay- "what you have been given so far? Too coarse for Her Highness's delicate constitution?"

"I- I lost my temper." It was the truth, but he took it an entirely different spirit, and suddenly he was laughing at her again. She felt her cheeks color and bit her lip, but only to keep an odd laugh of her own from welling within her.

"I understand that little queens often do."

So he _did_ think her a little girl! A foolish, simple, pouting little girl! It would have been humiliating, had it not been so utterly _brilliant_. All she had to do was keep acting the way he expected her to and… she could have crowed. Pushing her advantage- and it really was an advantage, though few would have seen it as such- she continued, "But I should be able to make requests, and the request that I have is not about the food."

"Indeed." Esma'il graced her with a patronizing smile- _Lion, what I wouldn't do to wipe that smirk from his face!_- and, making himself more comfortable against the doorjamb, gestured for her to proceed.

"I-" she began, and then paused. How best to phrase this? How best to make herself seem both child and fool, an enemy- no, not even an enemy- rather, an annoyance to be tolerated and humored rather than dismissed outright? Esma'il was a dangerous man, and a smart one, but he was also no pirate; she knew that well enough already. He was cultured, haughty; he had the air of aristocracy about him, for all of his mercenary trappings. So he would be best disposed towards… "I am not accustomed to tending to myself so exclusively," Lucy said hesitantly, watching her captor's face attentively and cursing the poor light once more. "I- I have need of an attendant, to care for some of my needs."

And Esma'il- curse him- laughed.

"You need an attendant? What do you think this is, little queen, some sort of a pleasure cruise? Are we in your delightful palace, Highness, that you should have your needs catered to?" Yet he was not suspicious of the request, she thought, only contemptuous of it, which was rather a great deal better.

"All the same, I must have someone." And, for good measure… "Look at the state that I'm in," she whined, gesturing to her tangled hair and her bare feet before sneaking a glance at his face. What she saw there nearly undid her careful façade.

He was- he was actually _considering_ her request. By Aslan, if only he were so easily led in all things! She would have had control of this damned ship days ago! "You do not much resemble the queen that you claim to be, Highness. Indeed, I would sooner call you an urchin than royalty. And such a thing will not do." Esma'il frowned contemplatively and abandoned his haughty leaning upon her humble prison door to better see her. "Stand, Highness."

Summoning as much dignity and, to be honest, courage as she could, Lucy stood, feeling her legs give a shake or two before steadying; it had been too long since she'd eaten, and Esma'il's close scrutiny was not helping matters in the least. He circled her, nothing but scorn on his face, and a trembling started in her legs and shot through her. It suddenly occurred to her how tired she was, and how afraid, how angry, how alone. Never mind not looking like a queen; she did not feel like one, either.

_Remember who you are_, she commanded herself, trying to ignore Esma'il's open smirk. _Remember that Aslan himself named you the Valiant_. But she didn't feel valiant.

"Very well, little queen," Esma'il said suddenly, pausing in his scrutiny to stand before her.

Lucy's spiraling thoughts froze. _Very well_? What was that supposed to mean? Certainly it could not be that-

"I will grant that an attendant visits you, but for a short time only. You are not a visiting dignitary, Highness."

"Nor are you a proper host," she shot back viciously- certainly he wouldn't expect acquiescence in all things. Even if he did, he would not get it. There were limits on how long even a silly little girl would allow such condescension to continue. She steeled herself and met his amused look.

"Well? You have a maid among the living, Highness? I noticed no such person, but then, Narnia is a very barbarous nation, and I admit that I often find myself unable to discern which of your… creatures are supposed to be female."

_Bastard_, she thought idly, more occupied with properly couching her next words than with correcting Esma'il's idiotic bigotry. She'd heard such words before, and from mouths far more worrisome to her than this pirate's. His foolish arrogance he could keep, so long as he gave her what she needed. _Whom_ she needed. But his bigotry might help her, she thought suddenly, looking at him with a new interest. He didn't expect Narnia to be civilized, so why not?

She hadn't, truth be told, brought an attendant along; with no diplomats, Courts, or what Susan disparagingly called _social functions _to attend, there had been little point. But still she had someone in mind. And so she opened her mouth and thought of Edmund's glibness, of Susan's confidence, of Peter's righteousness and truth. "My maid became ill on Terebinthia; we left her at the port there." And let him prove_ that_ an untruth! "There was someone else on board my ship who could help me."

"Oh?" Esma'il's brows arched and again her legs trembled. Lucy found herself looking at his hands rather than his face. Such beautiful hands, she thought again. "Am I to understand that you carry multiple maids on such a small ship?"

"Not a maid." She shifted her gaze from his hands to the still-open door, half in true unease and half in acting. Who knew that it would prove so easy to appear so afraid? She'd thought that after her outburst of earlier, the fear had gone, but Esma'il's presence was more powerful than she'd known. "But there is someone who can aid me and I- I would request that he be sent to me."

"_He_, little queen?"

"Yes, he. He is Horen, an old, dear friend, and one whom I trust to attend to me. If," she added bitterly, and not without a bite of true venom beneath the façade and the fear, "your idiotic crewmen haven't killed him yet."

She stopped, biting her lip and praying. Esma'il laughed, again. How many times did that make it since he had come to speak to her? Too many; too many by far. "You would have a man attend you, little queen? You jest."

"There are few enough Men in Narnia. Horen is a Faun, and a loyal subject. A-" she paused, wondering how far to go. "A friend."

"A friend?" The laughter had faded from his voice. Surprised, Lucy let her eyes slide from their contemplation of the doorway back to his face. Almost immediately, she wished they hadn't. "This Faun is a friend of yours, then?"

"I-"

"No, little queen, don't speak. I'm certain he is a friend. Narnia is indeed barbarous."

Esma'il reached out a hand almost pensively; his fingers brushed her cheek and she leapt back, snarling, "Don't touch me!"

His hand froze. Her heart hammered, and she wondered when it had become too difficult to breathe. Something clenched in her stomach. "Don't touch me," she repeated, but softly.

Slowly, the outstretched hand dropped, and a smile spread back over his face. The pounding in her chest continued. "I shan't, Highness. It is no business of mine how Narnians comport themselves. And if it is this Faun whom you wish to attend to you, he shall be sent for." Despite his acquiescence, something glittered in his eyes, and Lucy found that she'd rather not think too much on what it was. "You may have an hour with him, but no more. This is not a pleasure cruise."

With as subtle a deep breath as she could take, she nodded. "I thank you, then." _Aslan, please, make that stick in his throat. Haunt him with that, somehow, because it will surely haunt me._

"Hmph," he snorted, but the strange glitter in his eye turned to pleasure, and she found breathing easier. "He will be sent to you. And you must have food. Along with,"- he cast an appraising eye over her once more- "an escort to the bow. It would not, I believe, be amiss."

"No." The word was soft, but unshaken, which was as good as Lucy felt she could reasonably do, given Esma'il. He moved from treating her like a child to treating her like a trinket. It was disconcerting and distressing, but in doing so he revealed his own arrogance and conceit. It might prove useful, someday.

"No, indeed." And then he smiled and turned towards the door. "Narin, I believe, might serve as an escort. I will send him to you, little queen," he tossed over his shoulder, "and then you shall have your _friend_."

With an abrupt yet graceful half-turn, Esma'il mockingly bowed himself from her prison. The bolt slid home with a heavy click, leaving Lucy suddenly, startlingly alone. He'd taken the lantern with him, and the cabin, never well lit, became almost alarmingly dark. She stood where he had left her, half-stunned by the speed with which everything had happened.

The darkness closed around her, and the air got closer, but Esma'il was gone, and his absence made it easier to think. So she would get a little time with Horen; it was far more than she had expected. That Esma'il had given in to her first plea was so surprising as to nearly be disturbing. But, then again, the more time she spent around the pirate- not that she had any great desire to spend any time at all around him- the more she began to notice the many incongruities about him. His curious aristocratic air was only the most obvious; there were others that were far more telling.

Others such as what she had just witnessed, Lucy thought, frowning to herself in the dark. She shifted distractedly. Esma'il was intelligent- oh, yes, he was. He had to be- there had been too much planning in her capture, too much cleverness and timing and knowledge for him to be merely a tool. He had to have had a hand in the conception of this plan for it to have been pulled off as well as it had been. Such a plan required a cool calculation that Esma'il obviously possessed. Yet she had seen flashes of something else, something _other_ beneath that coldness, and it was that which frightened her, far more than any threats or plans.

Beneath Esma'il's nonchalance and casual cruelty, Lucy had seen enough to recognize madness.

_Ah_, a small snide voice that sounded rather like Edmund said; _he would be mad. But madness leads to instability. _There was also a voice rather like Susan's that was considering the ways in which such madness could be used on a grander scale; and one suspiciously like Peter's that suggested talking a bit before using the battered _chair_, never mind the madness. And through all these familiar, beloved voices, there was the Lucy voice, prowling and listening. And the Lucy voice was afraid.

But the Lucy voice was also angry. It didn't want to talk or think or make snide comments; it wanted to act, and act now. It wanted light and noise and brash recklessness and the pure, heady sense of life that came when each breath was a gift and the Lion roared alongside her. It wanted to meet Esma'il with a dagger and an army and a bright pennant blazing with Aslan's colors in the wind. That was Lucy's way.

No chance of such things here, though. She sighed, raised one hand to her forehead. Absentmindedly, she wiped the beading sweat away. If she couldn't have things her way, she'd-

The sound of confident footsteps froze her. In the darkness, the sound of the bolt sliding was unusually loud. _Pennants_, she thought wildly, and then the door was thrown open.

As she stood blinking slightly in the sudden light of yet another lantern, a breeze of blessedly fresher and slightly cooler air washed over her, bringing with it the scent of the sea. It was such a familiar thing, the smell of the sea at night, so distinctive, and for Lucy, it had never meant anything but home and comfort. But now… she chased the thought from her mind, instead concentrating on the bearer of the lantern.

It was immediately evident that the newcomer wasn't Esma'il; she might not have been able to see the figure's face, but it was altogether too short to be the Captain. _And for that_, Lucy thought suddenly and in relief, _I am grateful._ The rest of the crew- well, those that she had met so far- she could handle, even now. But Esma'il…

"Highness," said the figure, stepping forward, and Narin's face resolved itself. His expression was carefully blank, his eyes placid. He was the absolute epitome of an underling, save for the understated power with which he moved and the way capability glinted beneath the placidity. No noble, this one. Not like Esma'il. But she knew men of his type- _capable_ men- flocked around nobles; she also knew that, for all of the danger he represented, he was not half so dangerous as the man he served. "I am to escort you to the bow."

"Of course." Lucy approached him hesitantly, unsure of what to expect. She was a prisoner on this ship; would Esma'il take this chance to remind her of that? An escort to the bow was not _that_ demeaning, all things considered, but being bound while being escorted… but no, Narin simply gestured for her to precede him through the doorway, and she emerged from her stifling prison into a dim passageway that was only slightly less so.

With a start of surprise, she realized that she had no idea which way to go. She been escorted to the bow by Sken yesterday evening, but his idea of being an escort had had more to do with dragging her along than escorting. She felt she should have remembered which direction she returned from, at least, or possibly even remembered how she'd gotten to the cabin in the first place, but those days were still blurs of silence and shock and nothingness. Two days of captivity had passed in blankness. Now was the time for, well, everything else.

"To the left, Highness," Narin prompted softly.

Lucy almost turned to look at him but then stopped herself. What business of it was hers if Esma'il's man decided to be friendly? He wasn't going to free her, he wasn't going to help her; the best she could hope for was that he wouldn't hinder her. She set off down the passage, her captor close behind.

She counted doors as she passed them, fixing the route in her memory. This would prove useful soon, she thought, when the time came to act. Act to do what, though? And then Lucy found, quite to her own surprise, that she had already begun to think of a rebellion aboard Esma'il's ship.

_A rebellion? Where in the Lion's name did that idea originate?_ It was a foolish thought, probably fatal to all who joined it. But it was very _Narnian_.

"Stairs, Highness," Narin prompted again, and she looked up. A small, steep set of stairs rose through the darkness; she followed them and emerged into a brilliant summer night. The air was much cooler here on the deck, the worn planks smoother beneath her bare feet, and a brisk breeze from the west played with sails and rigging and Lucy's sweat-damped hair. Above them, the stars shone brightly. It would have been the most magnificent night, had she only been seeing it from the _Euthymia_.

"And forward to the bow, Highness. We've not got all night." He led her, now, one hand on her upper arm. He was a slight man, and not that much taller than she, but his hand was strong and his grip tight. He pulled her across the deck, rushing her past the few crewmembers that still lurked in the gloom. They laughed as Narin hurried her past.

"Oi! Your High Queenness! Enjoying the journey?"

"Where's your pretty crown, your Queenness?"

"Late for a ball, Queenie?"

In the darkness, she didn't recognize the men, though she might not have recognized them in the light, either. She knew so few of the crew; and lack of knowledge was dangerous. She needed to know which of them would fight, which among them would lie down, which would be a danger. Perhaps Horen-

And Narin jerked her to a halt; she stumbled.

"Hurry, Highness," he said, and released her, giving her a slight push towards the beakhead. She stumbled again, and caught herself on the bowsprit before pushing off and making her way to the starboard latrine.

"Give me a bit of privacy," she snarled, turning back towards Narin. If he thought that she was going to stand for his intrusion, prisoner though she was, he was sadly mistaken. "You may remove yourself from the bow; it's not," she added viciously, "as though there is anywhere that I can go."

For a moment, she feared that he would refuse, and should that happen she would lose this fight, she knew. But he backed down, and backed away, his brows raised. Let him think what he liked, so long as he gave her a moment.

She relived herself quickly, grateful for the chance to do so, and then moved forward to stand at the farthest end of the bow. From here, she could see the water spreading out forever beneath the stars. The ship rolled gently on the waves; there was a breeze from behind her and a gentle one on her face. Overhead, she could see the Dragon ahead and to the left, the great red star of his eye glinting low on the horizon. And from the eye, then, she should be able to find her way to the Tree, which would be a bit more to the nor-

She froze.

The Dragon? To the left? She looked again, checking to ensure that she was not mistaken. Surely, she had to be. But there was no mistaking the Dragon's far-flung body, the thick cluster of stars at his tail, his red eye. And yes, yes- there, to her right, was the Song, that thick band of brilliant stars that crossed the eastern summer sky. She hadn't been mistaken; they were sailing between the Dragon and the Song.

The _Thanatos_ was sailing northeast.

It made no sense. There was nothing to the northeast- no map that Lucy had ever seen showed anything in that direction save sea and the occasional warning "Here Be Dragons." Oh, there might be a few small islands scattered here and there amongst the waves, but none that were inhabited. Anything north of Terebinthia's position was too inhospitable to be desirable, and the fishing wasn't good enough for even the most enterprising of fishermen to venture the cold waters.

So why was Esma'il taking such a route?

"Highness, hurry," said Narin from behind her.

"We're sai-" she stopped abruptly, her mind working furiously. It would serve no purpose to reveal that she knew in which direction they were sailing, and that it was an unusual route. Narin, she knew, would give her no useful information in return for her comment, and her failure to remark upon their direction would only strengthen the perception of herself as a foolish child that she hoped to impress upon Esma'il. "Sailing- sailing slowly. Is this voyage going to take long?"

"Such things are Lord Esma'il's business, Highness, and none of yours. Come along." He did not beckon nor reach for her, but the command was clear in his voice nonetheless and besides, Horen would be waiting for her, or so she hoped. And she didn't trust Esma'il not to renege on his promised time of an hour. And there was so very much she had to tell the Faun, so very much she needed from him. With one last, worried look at the Dragon and the Song, Lucy turned to follow Narin back to her prison.

* * *

She'd seen many unpleasant things in her life- there had been the Witch and Beruna and those nasty assassination attempts and the fire after the harvest and death and illness. Somehow, the sight of the elderly Faun- who had never strayed from his scholarly calling, even during the Winter Rebellion- was a different thing altogether.

"Your Majesty," he greeted her, and again the words were like a prayer, spoken in relief and hope and sadness. _Oh, Horen._ His two words threatened to shatter the carefully constructed strength that Esma'il had failed to crack, and the sight of her old friend sent a dangerous mixture of sorrow and rage racing through her.

Someone- Horen, she supposed, with Esma'il's permission- had lit the several lanterns installed throughout the cabin, and in their warm glow she could see exactly what three days of capture looked like on one who was not royalty. There were no shackles, for which she was entirely grateful, but he looked old, tired, worn. The right side of his face was mottled blue and purple, a gift from the day of their capture, she remembered. "My friend," she began, stepping forward. "I-"

"How maudlin." Esma'il's smile was ironic. "But I have no time for such reunions. Narin!"

"Lord."

"You'll oversee this happy meeting," he said languidly. Lucy's heart sank. She'd hoped- well, it had been a foolish hope, but she'd hoped that they would underestimate her even to the point of idiocy. To have been left alone with Horen would have made things much simpler. "I'd prefer it if the creature didn't fill the little queen's head with thoughts of misbehavior."

"Of course, Lord Esma'il."

It was worth one last try, though. "Captain, your man cannot stay while I am being attended to. It would not be prop-"

"Enough." His voice was soft, which only made the menace in his single word worse. It silenced her protest immediately, and in the quiet that followed Lucy realized that she had made almost as great a mistake as Esma'il had in underestimating her.

She'd forgotten that madness.

"I have been lenient, Highness. I have been accommodating. Try my patience but once more tonight, and I will find myself unable to do so again. Now, Narin will be present while your beast is with you, or you will not have an attendant."

His tone had moved from anger to patronization, riling her abused temper. A snarl rose within her, in answer to his malice, but died on her lips the moment she realized what she was about to do. Would a cowed child snarl in the face of a monster? No. Nor could she do so to Esma'il. That must wait. Instead, she summoned a subdued meekness and whispered, "I understand." _Now leave_, she thought. _Leave now, Esma'il._

"Do you?" he asked. His hand on her shoulder was almost kindly, but she flinched despite herself when he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Remember, little queen, I don't need them. Any of them. So you'd best indulge me."

_Aslan_. "Yes."

"Good." With a mocking smile at her and a meaningful look at Narin, he was gone, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

Lucy stared at the door, torn between anger and the sick sensation she'd been fighting for days. He didn't need her crew- not a one of them. And he would use them against her in any way he could think of, for as long as it was convenient, until one day he decided that it was easier or more amusing to be rid of them. And on that day-

No. She wouldn't think that way. She was Aslan's queen, and Narnia's queen, and neither would abandon her. They simply had to hold on, had to hold together. And with that in mind…

"Horen." She turned to him quite suddenly, forcing her voice into a false brightness. "I have need of you."

If he was startled by the sudden youthfulness of her demeanor, he said nothing, though he couldn't quite hide the surprise in his eyes. He made her a slow half-bow, though she wished he wouldn't; despite his attempts to hide it, she could see the discomfort the motion caused him, and she wondered what other abuse he had suffered at the hands of Esma'il's men. What abuses _all _her people had suffered.

"Of course, Queen Lucy. How may I serve my queen?"

The subservience in his voice made her throat catch. Horen had never been- none of her counselors, none of her _friends_ had ever been- so submissive. The Faun sounded like a servant- she caught herself, forced herself to think. If she could present herself as a child, could not Horen present himself as a servant? Esma'il was ready to dismiss the entire crew of the _Euthymia _as little better than beasts and unthinking creatures. He would expect nothing more of her friend than blind obedience.

_And he will look,_ she though_, and he will see what he expects, and he will not suspect us. And he will fail because of it._

It was not a happy thought, but vengeance was better than fear or mindless distress, and so she clung to it, and to her disguise. "Yes," she continued, stepping away from Narin. "Yes, Horen. My- my hair needs tending to. It has gotten quite out of hand, and looks unbecoming."

Lucy was glad that her back was to Narin, who still stood impassively at the threshold; that way, he failed to see the first smile of days spread over her face as Horen masked his snort as a hacking cough. _Looks unbecoming_, indeed. No one cared less than Lucy what her hair looked like, and it was only because of Susan's intervention that she'd not chopped it all off at the start of this unusually warm summer. It was proving useful now, however, and so she thanked her sister silently. Hair as a weapon of espionage; Susan would thrill when she heard of it.

"You could never look unbecoming, your Majesty," he replied. She wondered if Narin caught the irony in the words. "But please, if your Majesty would sit…"

There was nowhere but the bed- oh, she regretted breaking that chair!- and so she was forced to slide onto it, fold her knees beneath her and face the wall. Such a position was the only way that Horen could possibly serve the purpose Esma'il had released him for, yet it meant that both of them had their backs to Narin, an uncomfortable position if ever there was one. He was Esma'il's man; he had to be. He called the pirate 'Lord', followed his commandments like a liegeman. And the bonds between Calormene lords- noblemen, princes, rich merchants, whatever they may be- and their bondsmen ran deep, almost like family, albeit family that the lord could enslave or toss out or murder with impunity. And this was the man to whom she had her back!

"Have you a comb, Narin?"

"Highness, the goat is your attendant, not I. And he has his fingers, has he not?"

"If you will permit me, Queen Lucy, I will try not to hurt you."

No comb, no brush. It was a pirate ship, after all. "I trust you, Horen." And she did, so much so that she had called him to herself for what was looking to be quite a risky conversation. She'd hoped to get him alone; well, that wasn't going to happen. But he was still with her, and she was not so much of a child that she could not converse with him in this situation. "By all means, begin."

Horen's hands were gentle: those of a scholar, whose calluses came from long hours with quills rather than with swords. He loosened the untidy braid and began, slowly, to work out the knots, forcing thick fingers through sea and wind-assaulted tangles. There was a rhythm to it, slow and hypnotic and soothing. Susan did this on occasion, threading her fingers through Lucy's hair and smoothing it by hand. She'd always said it helped to calm her, helped her to occupy her hands in order to free her mind from mundanity.

Lucy hoped it did the same for Horen. "Do you remember the tale of Isiri?" she said quietly, her words muffled even more by the wall to which she spoke. "I was thinking of it earlier today. Do you remember?"

"Indeed, Queen Lucy."

"I was thinking- I was thinking of how Isiri's lover went away from her." Except that the Naiad's lover hadn't gone away from her; he had been killed, lured into a trap by one of Isiri's sisters and murdered there. And Horen would know that, would see the discrepancies in her retelling of the tale, and would hopefully understand them. "I was thinking that perhaps there should be a different perspective on one of the characters."

The hands stilled. Lucy meshed her fingers together. "Yes, your Majesty?"

"Maybe- maybe people should pay more attention to Isiri's sister. I think that she is important- more important than is normally thought." _Because she's a traitor, Horen, a trusted traitor. Work it out._

"Indeed, Queen Lucy," he said slowly, his voice contemplative. She winced as he ran his fingers through a particularly stubborn knot. "I shall consider this. And perhaps- perhaps the scholars at the court will see this problem, and will consider it as well."

"I should hope so. I would hate for the story to be misconstrued."

Silence descended in the cabin once more, broken only by the occasional sputtering of a flame or a quiet sound from Lucy as the braid was gradually tamed. Narin was silent- almost too silent. There was no way he could know that old tale, Lucy thought. Hoped. Prayed. Horen knew it because he was a scholar; Lucy because she was a queen and a lover of stories. It was old Narnian, probably second or third century, and not well known outside of Lantern Waste. There was no reason for a liegeman from Calormen to know of it.

"It makes me think of another tale, Queen Lucy."

"Does it? It is a rather unusual tale."

"Yes, but so it this." His voice took on the sonorous quality it always had when he told tales, and Lucy smiled despite herself. "Your Majesty's talk of Isiri rather puts me in mind of Boamus. Such an odd tale."

An odd tale indeed- it wasn't one. Lucy closed her eyes. Boamus had been real- well, Isiri might have been real, too, but Boamus had most definitely lived. She thought back to her history lessons with Mithin. Eight century- or was it early ninth?- Centaur general. Edmund had gone on about him, about his brilliance and general lack of openness in warfare. In Boamus' defense, he had been campaigning against a veritable horde of Calormene bandits. But what was it about Boamus that… ah, yes. He'd been captured, and yet continued to lead the campaign by use of the Animals who'd infiltrated the camp as spies months before. And then… "An unhappy tale," she answered.

"Yet surely his friends could have done no less for him," came the reply, as his hands began to weave her knot-free hair into a long braid.

_They died for him!_ she wanted to shout, but didn't quite dare. _They died, Horen._ They'd risen in rebellion, all those Animals posing as dumb creatures, and freed their general, and died for it. _I am no Boamus, don't die for me._ "It is an unhappy tale."

"Yes, Queen Lucy. Many tales are." His hands stilled, their task complete. Before he could ask or search for a tie, she ripped the hem of her dress angrily and handed him a strip of the crumpled blue linen.

"It's not a tale that I enjoy." She felt the newly tied braid fall against her back and turned quickly to look the Faun in the eyes. "Please," she whispered. "I would not be Boamus."

"Enough," Narin barked, effectively cutting off whatever reply Horen would have made. He stepped towards them. "If the goat has finished attending you, Highness, it's time he should go."

"I-"

"It seems he has finished. You know the Lord's orders."

"I should go, your Majesty," Horen said quietly, and he bowed once more as Narin's hand descended to grip his shoulder and began to pull him towards the door. On an impulse, Lucy shot out her hands and grabbed one of her friend's. "Grace of Aslan with you, Horen." Narin watched impatiently, but she paid him no mind. This she would do, could do, if nothing else. If her people were to make her a Boamus- _please, Aslan, not that_- then she would, at least, earn it.

She dropped her head to brush a gentle kiss to the back of Horen's hand. The Faun stiffened. The man sighed. "I have no time to indulge in-"

"Don't speak of what you don't understand," Lucy snapped absently, focused instead on Horen's face. _Understand_, she thought. _Please, understand_. _Understand all the words I can't say, the words I daren't say. By this kiss I grant you my grace and my blessing._

"I am honored, Queen Lucy."

_By this kiss I grant my authority._

"Come along," Narin snarled, and pulled Horen away. Lucy let his hand slip between hers. She did nothing but watch as her friend, her confidante, her advisor was taken away, back to whatever prison Esma'il had condemned him- and all the others- to.

The door closed, the bolt snapped; she was alone.

_Boamus…_

So it was rebellion. Of course it was; they were Narnian, after all. And here, locked in her solitary prison, she could not help them. _By this kiss I extend to you, and to all of my people, this command: lead my rebellion._

_But please, Aslan, do not make me a Boamus. _


End file.
